Family
by Westel
Summary: The Enterprise captain and crew, responding to a Priority One call, find more than they had bargained for on the ancient mining planet.
1. Chapter 1

The Journey

Westel

"James Tiberius Kirk, son of one George Samuel Kirk, deceased, captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, Starfleet, United Federation of Planets. Youngest man in the Fleet to be given command of a starship. Commendations... "

"Stop, computer."

"Waiting."

Achlar turned from the console and faced his superior, Baruk. "Did you hear enough, Mr. President, or shall I continue?"

Baruk leaned back in the luxurious upholstery of his chair, leaving his one-man chess game for the moment, and casually lit a Terran cigar before replying. The glare of cheap overhead lighting reflected off his balding head. "Cut the blarney about all his honors, Ach. I'll be wantin' to know about this heritage status, is all. Does he hold a status of legitimacy or not?"

Achlar instructed the computer. "Family delineation on Kirk, specifically marriage contract between said George Samuel and Kirk's mother, Winona. Also birthdates and decease dates on all family members."

"Working."

"Print it out, computer."

"Acknowledged."

Achlar handed the printout to Baruk and appeared to busy himself at his desk, all the while watching the president for a reaction, quick in coming. Baruk smacked the flimsy with the back of his hand.

"Hah! Here it is, Ach! Priceless, priceless! This is how we get rid of that miserable life form once and for all! Would ye be knowin' how old Jimmy-boy is, Ach? Thirty-four. Do you know when his father died? Before he left home, Ach - while he was still home with his darlin' mother! He was the youngest son, and his brother, rest his soul, went on to his reward a year or so ago." Baruk leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. He stroked his red-blond beard as a look of scorn distorted his features. "Poor fellow, he can't be knowin' that when he gets here he has no status, no property - hell, he doesn't even have a name! Bastard Jimmy-boy. Jimmy No-name. Truly marvelous." He laughed, without pity.

Achlar looked hungrily at Baruk. "You'll deal with him in the usual manner, Mr. President?"

"Oh, no, Achlar, Jim-boy is very special. I owe him, remember?"

Baruk stood and paced slowly about the garishly-lit room, pulling at his beard. When he spoke again, the witty Irish lilt had given way to heavy, cultured tones.

"When he swaggers in here we will greet him with a reception commensurate with his status as a—former—starship captain. We will not only disinherit him, but we'll send him somewhere,,,permanent."

Achlar laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, I get it, and what the dogs don't want the rats will finish off."

Baruk smirked at the old, sinister joke. "I admire your sense of humor, Ach. Do have a cigar. Oh! And send the priority signal, too, there's a good lad. Since my resources have advised me she's in the vicinity, the Enterprise will bring us our passenger in short order."

"Reception committee's all ready, Mr. President."

Light from the computer monitor screen and cigar fumes mingled to form an eerie green glow over Achlar's head as he activated the priority one emergency signal. Baruk moved his chess piece and swore lustily under his breath, reverting back to his own accent. "'Tis checkmate for you, Captain Nobody. The game is over and, um...you lose."

Six Weeks Later—

"Of all the Tom-fool things for a man to do - a starship captain to do!"

"Bones, I really don't need this today."

"Well, you're gonna get it. I don't know why you go and do things to yourself like this when you've got enough on your plate as it is."

"I didn't go and do anything! Damn it, McCoy, you act like I sprained my wrist on purpose, for good... Ow!"

Spock stood next to the Chief Medical Officer, observing his ministrations to Kirk's wrist. "Is he severely damaged, Doctor?" he intoned.

"No, Mr. Spock," interjected Kirk, truly irritated by now. "It's just a sprain. Nothing to worry about."

"It is not a sprain; it's a break, and I'll thank you to keep your personal - and inaccurate - opinions to yourself, Sir." McCoy glanced up from his examination and nodded good-humoredly at the Vulcan. "He'll be fine, Spock. A little too rambunctious in the gym, eh?"

"Correct." Spock affirmed.

Kirk grunted, grimacing at McCoy's touch. "Now who's expressing a personal opinion? Bones, I fell. Everyone falls sometimes. I took a bad step, that's all."

McCoy once again sought confirmation from the science officer; it was given.

"Okay, Jim," he soothed. "Just rattling your cage a little. Delivering diplomats is no fun, is it?"

"It is not," Kirk replied, tightly.

McCoy shook his head again, stifling a smile. If there was anything the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise hated, it was shuttling diplomats here and there for the Federation. The only thing Kirk hated more was acting the diplomat himself. The icing on this particular cake was that there had been three diplomats, each with his, her, or it's particular needs (and demands), each from a different planet (and nowhere near each other), and all on their way to a conference of some kind which, in McCoy's humble opinion, was simply an excuse to eat very expensive food among very boring people. Kirk had somehow managed to keep their passengers fairly quiescent until their delivery a day ago, but the time spent mollifying grown children had taken its toll. No wonder Jim had gotten hurt; distraction does that to a fellow. He didn't envy Kirk one bit.

"Look on the bright side, Jim," he offered, speaking above the hiss of the hypo to Kirk's wrist.

"There's a bright side?" Kirk flinched a little at the touch of the cold hypo against his skin, then relaxed as the analgesic took effect.

"Sure!" The CMO clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder and leaned closer to whisper, "At least you didn't have to go to the conference itself!" McCoy bounced on his toes, winking at Spock, whose response was a lifted eyebrow and folded arms.

"Captain, if you no longer require my services here, I shall return to the bridge."

"By all means, Mr. Spock. I'll join you shortly..." McCoy opened his mouth and raised a finger, and Kirk added, "...after I get my lecture from the good doctor." The doctor cut the reply off in mid-syllable.

"I'll only keep him a few minutes, Spock."

McCoy was true to his word, as Kirk was soon fixed up with an osteo-regenerative hypo and a supportive wrist bandage.

"There, now, behave yourself and it'll be off in a week. Now, if you don't mind, I've got better things to do. I'm certifying you fit for duty - light duty."

Kirk smiled at his recalcitrant friend and slid off the biobed, stopping at the comm station to answer a call from the bridge.

"Kirk here."

"Captain," spoke Uhura, "we are receiving a Priority One distress call from the planet Echthra, in this quadrant. The message is recorded and repeating itself every 60 seconds."

Kirk muttered an expletive under his breath and glanced at McCoy, who shrugged.

"Since when have you ever listened to me?"

Kirk scowled at the physician and hit the intercom switch. "On my way, Lieutenant. Red alert."

The klaxons and red lights followed on the heels of the captain as he strode out of sickbay. McCoy watched the doors close behind him and began to pick up items from the table. Nope - he didn't envy his captain one bit.

Two solar cycles earlier:

Teah crept to the window and peered cautiously through the curtains, an instinct already warning her to stay hidden. They were at it again. She could hear the low, ominous tones of her sire as he threatened her mother, a dialogue she had heard so many times before. This time, however, something was different.

The predictable end of these confrontations was a beating, usually. Yells and curses. Such outbursts of violence - though frequent - always ended after a time, resolved at least temporarily. But this time, Teah felt the undercurrent of something far more ominous. She let herself in the front door, moving quietly through the dwelling. A guttural laugh drew her into the next room. Teah's mother was against the wall, K'tal's hand around her throat, her feet barely touching the floor. Salah saw her daughter and pleaded with K'tal to stop, not wanting her child to witness this. K'tal turned his gaze on Teah, a feral grin spreading over his dusky features. He turned back to Salah and slowly raised her from the floor, his grip tightening on her throat. Salah began to gasp and struggle horribly, her lovely features contorting in agony. Desperately Teah flung herself at K'tal, clawing at his face, trying with all her strength to break the deadly stranglehold. With his free arm he flung her away, slamming her hard against the wall. Stunned, she slid down to sit dazedly on the floor, and watched helplessly as her sire, mate of her mother, pulled out a disrupter and aimed it at Salah's chest.

Teah's screams mingled with the screech of the disrupter before she blacked out.

A Priority One signal always meant trouble - big trouble. Though necessary, Kirk disliked the restrictions he was forced to observe due to the nature of the emergency call. Only the threat of planetary disaster or invasion of UFP territory by hostile forces qualified for the Priority One. For the Enterprise it meant mandatory communications silence; their only recourse was to follow the signal and come into the unknown situation at full alert. Mandatory or not, Kirk didn't like the handicaps.

The Priority One could be misused, too, though penalties for such misuse were high. Take the last time they had answered such a call: there had been no disaster at all, though circumstances later proved that it was a good thing they had responded. The space station loaded with quadrotritecale and a petty

official loaded with pomp gave Kirk a brass-cymbal headache that day. As the tale played out, the presence of the Enterprise crew (not to mention a few hairy creatures of questionable reputation) ultimately unearthed a Klingon undercover agent and averted the delivery of a poisoned grain shipment. But a Priority One call, for whatever reason, placed the starship answering that call at high risk.

Kirk paced the bridge, watching his crew efficiently handle their respective duties and subconsciously listening to the engines, or rather feeling the faint vibration which spoke of the tremendous power hurtling them through space at warp eight. He found himself willing the great engines to push harder, to carry them to their destination faster, to get this interminable waiting over with. Dealing with a situation, any situation, was far easier to handle than the waiting itself. He glanced toward the science station. At least Spock had something to do as he scanned for anything which might give them a clue to the reason for the Priority One. The first officer sensed he was being watched and looked up, raising both eyebrows in silent inquiry.

"Mr. Spock, have you found anything that could give us an idea of what we're getting into?"

"Negative, Captain. I pick up no physical disturbances of any kind in this quadrant. There is no evidence to indicate a natural disaster has occurred, either on the planet or in the immediate solar system." Spock bent to read as more information came up on his screen. "Echthra is a mining planet, on the extremes of Federation jurisdiction. There is little official contact between them and Federation officials... no previous history of problems."

Kirk leaned back against the rail below the science officer, drumming his fingers absently as he chewed on Spock's information. No natural calamity. That left a few million unanswered questions - was there a disease ravaging the populace below them, or some other type of devastation? Invasion was still certainly an option, though every reading indicated there was none. It wasn't likely that the Romulans or Klingons would go to the trouble to invade the place. Echthra was barely class M, rocky - totally unable to support agriculture according to an earlier report Spock had provided, and the materials mined were common and easy to acquire in Romulan and Klingon territories.

"Coming into range of Echthra, Captain," said Chekov.

"Put it on screen, Navigator."

"Aye, Sir."

The small, grey planet hovered insignificantly ahead of them. According to Spock's preliminary report, there was little information about the place other than it had been originally unpopulated until corundum was discovered there.

Terra's supply of raw alumina had been depleted over two centuries ago, and as the mineral was vital for synthesization of transparent aluminum, planets abundant in supply of it were immediately colonized. The Romulans and Klingons had plenty of their own supply planets for the stuff, but currently their civilizations weren't trading with the Federation. A planet such as Echthra, though officially under the auspices of the Federation, usually conducted its own affairs with nominal interference from the UFP, the 'government' made up of a hodge-podge of people from many backgrounds, some of them rather unsavory. Still, if the mineral was delivered as promised, paperwork properly prepared in triplicate, and Federation dues paid more or less on time, an unorthodox governing body rarely presented a problem.

As Sulu maneuvered the Enterprise into a cautious orbit, Spock scanned for spacecraft which may be hovering in the vicinity.

"Uhura, do you have a fix on that signal yet?" The lieutenant, who had been monitoring the same recorded message for hours and experiencing difficulty nailing down the source of the signal due to the mineralized planet below, suddenly straightened as a new message came through her console. The message was difficult to hear, the signal breaking up. As she adjusted her reception, her lovely eyes suddenly widened and she yelped in pain, jerking the offending receiver from her ear. The immediate silence on the bridge surrounded her in a cloud of dismay.

"Uhura?" The captain waited, unruffled.

"Captain, this is crazy!" Anger began to replace her embarrassment. "The Priority One signal has stopped, and now there's a strange..." She started to say music, but the sounds coming from her console barely merited that definition. She shook her head and raised her hands for lack of words.

"I'd better hear it for myself. Put it on audio, Uhura."

Kirk immediately regretted that last order as the bridge was pierced by wild, ear-splitting electronic wails, punctuated by primitive drum beats and wordless, human screaming. The captain made a slicing motion with his hand and the sounds were cut off.

"Any idea what that was, Spock?"

"Obviously a type of entertainment derived from musical notes, Captain."

"You're saying that was music?"

"After a fashion, although poorly produced."

Jim couldn't fathom any amount of production making an improvement on what he had just heard. He stood up and paced around the bridge, noting Uhura's panel indicators going off the scale with the muted sounds coming from that planet.

Time to examine the options again.

Scanners showed no space vessels, no ion trails in the vicinity. They were alone in orbit. A Priority One call, followed by that ear-blasting cacophony, was more than odd - it was crazy.

Kirk continued his walk around to Spock's station. "Spock, scan the planet. See if you can pick up anything which might indicate madness or panic down there - any pooling of crowds, such as in a riot or large gathering - any signs of full-scale fighting, bodies, anything."

"Already in progress, Captain." Spock turned back to his computer.

Kirk sat in his chair, chewing a thumbnail, slowly becoming conscious of a dull throbbing at the back of his head which matched the pulsing red lights of the silent red alert.

"Captain, indicators show that all is running within the parameters one would expect of a mining colony of this type and size. Judging by my readings, it is the end of a routine workday. People are traveling by land-car to their homes or elsewhere, mining operations are shutting down. I can see no reason whatever for a Priority One."

_So here I am again_, Jim thought, _reeled in like a dead fish_. He leaned forward in his chair, his fury at being at the beck and call of some idiot for the second time in his career turning into cold, hard resolution that this time he would personally throw the perpetrator in the brig and fuse the locking mechanism.

The crew on the bridge watched the metamorphosis from disbelief to anger, from anger to resolve.

"Mr. Sulu, maintain a holding pattern, but be ready to break orbit at my order. Mr. Spock, continue to scan for anything unusual on the planet or off, and augment Uhura's search for the location of the signal." Kirk stood squarely in the middle of the bridge, fists on hips, and blew out a breath. The flashing alert lights were reflected in his eyes. "And cancel red alert!"

Bridge crew jumped to follow orders, glad that the waiting was over at last.

Baruk was entertaining an exquisitely prepared dinner and an equally exquisite dinner partner when Achlar stuck his head in the room.

"Ach, not now! Run along before I get upset and ruin me darlin's dinner mood."

Achlar swallowed and shrank back some, his face peering beyond the edge of the door. "I'm sorry, Mr. President, but the Enterprise is in orbit and they are demanding to speak to the person in charge. They're pretty steamed, Sir!"

"Are they, now? Well, they haven't even begun to heat up." Baruk bent over the hand of his voluptuous dinner guest. "Duty calls, my dear," he crooned in Arthurian tones, "Pray continue your meal. I won't be too long."

She manufactured a toothy smile and had returned to her dinner before the President quit the room.

"I am deeply sorry, Captain Kirk. This is most unfortunate. It seems a few miners who had worked at one of our further exploration outposts became somewhat rowdy on their yearly R&R. They were a bit inebriated and took over our communications center. One of them inadvertently activated the Priority One signal and there was no way to countermand it, since they had locked themselves in. I suppose one of them finally turned it off, but then he fancied himself a broadcaster or similar nonsense and began playing some nauseating material. We were finally able to break in, Captain, and the miscreants are detained. I sincerely regret that you and your ship were brought here on such false pretenses. I do hope you will let us make it up to you. Echthra is not a fancy place, but we are hospitable. Please allow us to show you the comforts of home for a day or two."

The President's elegant, diplomatic words didn't sit right with Kirk. He sounded false - no, that wasn't it - he _felt fake_. It was a gut reaction, but Kirk trusted his instincts. "Thank you, Mr. President. I'll take your invitation under consideration and contact you again shortly. Kirk out."

As Uhura closed the communication, Kirk sat in the command chair, absently playing with the bandage on his wrist. McCoy, who had been present during the captain's dialogue with Baruk, knew something was eating at Jim. He looked over to the science station and saw that same concern reflected in the Vulcan's eyes.

"Spock, you and McCoy come with me. Uhura, please call Mr. Scott to the bridge. He's to notify me of any change in the status of that colony, no matter how insignificant. I'll be in my quarters."

The lift doors closed before the communications officer could reply.

Science and medical officers rode with their silent captain to Deck Five and walked to his cabin under a spell of anticipation. They sat at the table, watching Jim pace the small area before them and exchanging a silent glance or two of their own. A brief empathic communication was made between them and Spock conceded it was time to draw their commanding officer out of his reverie.

"Jim, how may Dr. McCoy and I be of assistance?"

Kirk paused in his pacing, turned and flopped down in a chair and opened his hands in perplexity. "Spock... Bones, this President Baruk - there' something..._familiar_ about him. He's not what he seems." The CO put a hand to the back of his neck. "He's hiding something." The captain leaned his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "And I want to know what it is." He stopped, watching his friends for their reaction. When none was forthcoming, he shrugged. Weird?"

"Jim, I'm not about to shrug off one of your hunches," said McCoy, crossing his arms.

Kirk looked at Spock.

"I am not sanguine about intuition, Captain, as you well know. However, like the good doctor, I believe yours bears close scrutiny. What is it in particular about this man that bothers you, Jim?"

Kirk ran his hand through his hair. "Well... I feel like I know him from somewhere, but changed. And that accent! It's a stage voice, Shakespearean. You know how I mean - sonorous, affected. It's as if he were disguising his real voice."

"That may be exactly what he is doing, Jim. According to ship's records, there may be many recalcitrants living in a mining colony such as this, its civilization affording them the anonymity and privacy they desire. Indeed, Earth history would indicate many such persons went on to lead productive, even exemplary lives in their new residence and identity."

"You're probably right, Spock. I do tend to fixate on things occasionally." Jim smiled briefly, straightening in his chair. "Well, gentlemen, we have been invited to Echthra. Diplomacy would dictate we honor their invitation and bolster colony/Federation relations. We should also find out if they have any medical needs, Bones. Spock, you'll check into their supply needs?"

McCoy grinned. "We could all use a little R&R about now! Right, Spock?"

Spock stared unblinkingly at the CMO for a few seconds, then turned to the captain. "I believe your invoking diplomatic concerns for our visit is quite logical, Jim."

"You would," muttered McCoy under his breath.

Kirk hit the intercom switch. "Uhura, contact President Baruk. Tell him a party of three will be beaming down shortly. Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy and myself will be spending a few hours there. Also inquire about any supply and/or medical requirements; those can be relayed directly to McCoy and Spock. Oh, and inform Starfleet of our plans."

McCoy and Spock left together to complete various duties and delegate assignments to subordinates in preparation for beamdown. But Kirk sat at the table in his room, the nagging warning he felt intensifying, like his headache, with every beat of his heart.

The landing party transported safely and was greeted by a tall, somber man with broad shoulders and the familiar facial contours and coloring of a Klingon. Reflexively Kirk tensed, even when the Klingon spread his hands in the universal gesture of peace and welcomed them to Echthra in perfect Standard. Kirk bowed slightly and followed the welcomer out of the room, forcing his fists to uncurl. He knew that many outworlders colonized a planet such as this - neutral zones and treaties (or the lack of them) did not often extend to mining colonies. He knew this - but it did little to assuage tension in his body and the pain in his head.

McCoy tried to engage K'tal in conversation, but only managed to find out the Klingon's name. It seemed this swarthy giant was not disposed to reveal anything personal about himself. McCoy walked along silently, his face a deep brown study.

They walked through endless hallways constructed of a corrugated material, cheap and flimsy-looking, thrown together hastily. Another sign of mining life, McCoy noted: everything had that temporary look, as if the colonists expected to tear it all down one day and move on to another mine, another colony.

The corridor they were in emptied abruptly into a large hall, its gymnastic appearance heightened by glaring white light bulbs, unshaded. In the center of the hall was an elaborately carved dining table, obviously very old and valuable, set for several guests. Two people awaited them there, and rose as

they drew closer. The taller of the two, with thinning hair and a prolific beard, made his way toward the trio, his white teeth baring themselves in what Kirk supposed was a grin.

"Welcome, welcome, my dear guests from the illustrious Starfleet. This is indeed an honor!"

The man's handshake was firm and forthright as he clasped hands first with the captain and then with the doctor. He did not offer to take Spock's hand, perhaps because he knew it was not a Vulcan custom, or perhaps because the first officer had firmly placed both hands behind his back. He gestured grandly to his guests and they took their places at the brightly lit table.

It was an interesting meal. A few other minor government officials had made their appearance and were seated with the rest. Baruk dominated the conversation with stories of the colony, and while everyone listened politely to his tales of mining life, the captain was a captive audience. Kirk was still trying to figure

out where he had met Baruk before, because he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he _had_ met him. He hung on the president's every word, listening for any slip, any syllable or tone that would give him away. The insistent pounding in his skull was almost forgotten in his intense observation of their verbal host.

Spock was interested, aesthetically, in the sharp contrast of aged wine with plastic glasses, old and elegant furniture with new and cheap accessories. It seemed to him that there was a mixed message here, denoting a mind that flip-flopped in its rationale of what was in good taste and what was not. Such

bizarre contrasts weighed heavily on the Vulcan's mind as he ate his delicately prepared fruit dessert, made especially for him in deference to his distaste for heavy sweets and ethanol beverages. It was not unpleasant, but there was a peculiar spice garnish he did not recognize which stung his tongue slightly,

like ginger.

McCoy, relaxed and enjoying Baruk's amusing anecdotes, still could not help but notice Kirk's tension. Jim seemed oblivious to any of the other guests' contributions to the conversation, although there was little chance for the half dozen petty officials to get a word in. Baruk never seemed to draw breath, and Jim never took his eyes from his face. Despite the comforts of a delicious meal, good wine, and colorful stories, McCoy decided he'd better keep his wits about him - after all, Jim had been under a lot of stress the past couple of weeks and especially today, no thanks to that damn Priority One fiasco. He set down his wine glass, reluctantly. It was a good vintage and he would have been happy to sample more of the same. _You owe me one, Jim_. McCoy settled in his chair, nibbling at his dessert and pointedly ignoring his half-full wine glass. He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for himself, having to watch Kirk down three glasses of wine during the course of the meal. Jim had hardly touched his food. _Jim, you're gonna have a hangover tomorrow_, McCoy mused

Kirk fingered the stem of his plastic wine glass. He had stared at Baruk's face so long his vision blurred. Passing a hand over his eyes, he turned his attention from the president for the first time that night and glanced around the table. He knew he had been introduced to the junior officials as they had come in, but he could not recall any of their names. They were all nameless faces, faces with no names...

Why was it so hot suddenly? His head began to spin and there was a strange roaring in his ears. Dizzy, he put a hand to his forehead, shading his closed eyes.

Sensing his friend was experiencing difficulty, Spock set down his fork and looked at the captain. _Jim?_

Kirk raised his head to look at his science officer; the room spun for a moment, the roaring in his ears increasing. As Kirk looked on, Spock's head elongated grotesquely, pulsated, and turned inside out!

Kirk's sharp intake of breath halted Baruk's dialogue and all eyes were upon the commanding officer.

"Captain, is there anything the matter?"

"Jim, what is it?"

Kirk heard the voices - saw the faces that went with them - behind closed eyelids. Familiar faces; friends. Somehow he knew that if he opened his eyes, he would see something else.

"What seems to be the problem with your captain, boys? 'Tis a shame he can't handle his ethanol, now."

_That voice! That voice!! - it's got to be..._

Kirk jerked open his eyes, searching for that red-bearded face, those familiar eyes... As he found Baruk, the room undulating around him like a heavy sea, he was vaguely conscious of Spock hunched over in his chair, eyes closed, and of McCoy holding onto the table, looking white as death. A very distant part of him knew they were in trouble, but they were so far away, and there was something else he had to do...

Jim moved toward Baruk with what was left of his failing strength, stumbling along the edge of the table, knocking over wine decanters. Officials fled the table, upending their chairs in their hurry to get out of Kirk's way. Baruk stood easily at his chair, his smile broadening at every fumbling step of the starship captain. Kirk, finally reaching the president, tried to straighten up, to look Baruk in the eye, but the world had gone askew... he crouched, swaying, desperate to keep his balance. That face...

"You," he whispered, the pounding in his head and steady roaring in his ears obscuring the sound of his own voice. "I... I know you."

"Oh, 'tis true, Jimmy-boy, that you do. We've a bit of catchin' up to do, though, don't we now? But we'll have plenty of time for that, later. Ye won't be goin' anywhere for a long, long time."

Kirk's sight was failing. Standing was becoming more difficult; there was something wrong with his knees. Looking down, he saw that they were melting away like wax, running down into his boots, which were also beginning to melt. He looked back up at Baruk's chest, his neck... Where is his face? As he felt himself falling, Kirk grabbed the front of Baruk's suit with both hands and finally focused on the president's eyes. There it was: the old glint of mischief, now become malice. Kirk knew those eyes as well as he did his own, and realized the person he thought he'd never see again, the man who had once been his upper-classman, the man who had been a short-term shipmate and long-time tormenter, was smiling down at him once again.

"My God," Kirk gasped, as he slithered into an oily, churning unconsciousness, "F- Finnegan!"

"Uhura, try those old radio transmission frequencies. Perhaps we can get through that way."

"I've already tried that, Mr. Scott," said the lieutenant, as she initiated the attempt again. "But never say die... "

Mr. Scott sat on the edge of the captain's chair, stewing in his inability to contact the landing party. They were an hour overdue for check-in, and Uhura's attempts to contact the colony had been unsuccessful. Scotty began to wonder if the drunken malcontents had once again taken over the communications center, but his own good sense and a bit of Celtic pessimism told him there was something more than a closed channel involved here. The captain would have found a way to contact them, if it were only old-fashioned signal flares. Scotty sat back in the chair. _That's it! No more waiting!_

"Mr. Chekov, take the science station. Scan from the beamdown coordinates, fanning out in concentric circles until you locate a Vulcan - our Vulcan."

"Aye, Mr. Scott."

The navigator began his task, hoping there weren't any Romulans in the colony. It could be very embarrassing to mistakenly beam up a furious Rihannsu. He set the instruments with extreme precision, using the ship's medical computers to determine Spock's exact physiological makeup. As he methodically scanned, the tactical indicated he had moved past the metropolitan area of the city and was entering a more rundown region, criss-crossed with alleyways and decaying buildings. Occasionally he would get some mixed readings which seemed to indicate something other than humanoid, but they were so fragmented and the spectrum shifted so quickly he could not be sure of his information. Once, for a moment, he thought he read Vulcan/Klingon, or Romulan/Klingon, if that were possible, but he soon lost that, too. However, not long after, the indicators locked on to their specified target: half-human, half-Vulcan. The life form was weak, readings unsteady, and there was another life form with it; Chekov could get no details on it, however. It seemed to be human, but was partially obscured by the life-readings of the Vulcan/Terran. When Chekov looked up, triumph at his discovery and puzzlement at the mixed reading etched on his face, Scotty knew he had found Mr. Spock. If they could get Spock back, they were in a better position to find Kirk and McCoy.

"I have him, Mr. Scott, but his life-signs are thready. There's someone else with him."

"Transporter Room."

"Kyle, here."

"Ensign Kyle, Mr. Chekov is sending you some coordinates," Scott said, watching Chekov execute that directive. "Lock onto them and beam up anything alive down there. Have Security there before you transport, just in case. We don't need any surprises. I'll be down directly."

"Aye, Sir."

Scotty got out of his chair and caught the eye of the communications officer. He lowered his voice. "Lass, please ask Dr. M'Benga to meet me in the transporter room. We may need him."

Uhura's lips tightened. "Right away, Mr. Scott."

Scotty made it to the transporter room in record time, but the beamup was already completed. M'Benga, who had also just arrived, was bending over someone... no, there were two of them... lying on top of another on the transporter pad. Mr. Kyle was calling for more medical help. Scott dismissed the Security team and hurried over to see if he could offer assistance. M'Benga had moved the Vulcan off the still form of the Chief Medical Officer. Scott was horrified to see McCoy curled into a fetal position, his eyes wild and unfocused. Even more horrible was the sight of Mr. Spock, on his back, his eyes staring fixedly at the ceiling, and his lips pulled back in the parody of a grin.

McCoy was aware of bright lights around him, but they had more substance than the wavering, fiery flashes that had earlier pulsed through his head. There were voices, too, but they were quiet, distinct. Praise be! He could understand them! That one was Miss Chapel; that one M'Benga.

The fear and confusion he had been feeling for what seemed like an eternity began to fade as he basked in the comfort of the solid, familiar world he knew so well. Confidence returning, he raised an eyelid tentatively, squinting in the dim light. His half-view of sickbay, biobeds, equipment, all in their proper places, cemented his opinion that he was indeed back in the real world. Opening both eyes wide, he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Nurse Chapel, would you please... "

Light fell upon him in shards of broken ice, and cymbals crashed in his brain as the world tilted. Hands closed upon him - painful iron grips that crushed his bones and bruised his flesh. His heart pounded furiously as he struggled to free himself, every effort causing more pain, more fear. He heard the hiss of the hypo, felt his body slowly relax, and the room gradually righted itself. He became aware of the sounds of his own life readings emanating from the monitor as they dropped back into a more normal range.

M'Benga leaned over him. "Don't move, Leonard. You'll be all right, but you must give your body time to flush the drug from your system."

"Flashback?"

"Yes, Doctor. Apparently your abrupt movements brought it on. But then, anything can bring it on, until it is completely gone."

"But that could take months! Do you know what it is?"

"Not really. It is an hallucinogen, but its exact makeup is not yet determined. We know it has the ability to change itself once it enters the human bloodstream, and connects to certain brain cells, adapting to that particular host cell. It can then react immediately with audio-visual or neural functions of any kind, or remain dormant until triggered. It can also remain inert, never triggered at all. And each person is affected differently, which makes the symptoms difficult to predict."

McCoy sat up, slowly, with Christine's help, and looked around sickbay, noticing for the first time that he was the only patient. "Spock... Jim! They were drugged, too. It hit the captain first, then Spock; but when I tried to help, all hell broke loose in my head and... where are they?"

M'Benga and Christine exchanged glances, then the nurse broke the news as gently as she could that Spock was in isolation, in a catatonic state apparently brought on by mental trauma, and that Kirk was missing on the planet below.

Something of the look between his co-workers and Chapel's careful tone finally registered in his foggy brain. He began to put it all together. Obviously, he had been drugged, apparently by the few sips he had of the wine, and he had just as obviously been found and transported to the Enterprise, lucky enough to be cared for by a trained medical staff. Even so, he knew instinctively that it would be some time before he could be sure he was free of the drug. The memory of what had just happened only minutes ago was a cold reminder in the pit of his stomach. Thank goodness he had drunk only a little of the wine...

Suddenly the full implication of what Christine had told him about his missing captain hit him. In his mind he saw clearly the ornate dining table, individual decanters of wine at each place setting, the captain's empty glass...

"Oh no! Oh God - NO!" He flung himself off the bed, the sudden movement throwing him into a writhing, black sea. "We have to find him! Jim needs our help... " He felt the hands grab him again as his mind filled with the image of the drained glass in Jim's hand, and the knowledge that his friend had consumed three glasses of a chemical hell.

Pain and crushing fatigue overwhelmed the grieving physician, and he was lost in merciful unconsciousness.

Screams.

Harsh... hoarse. Drawn out as if every one of them would be the last. Detached, he heard himself screaming, saw himself writhing in anguish. He was captive in a living nightmare, a helpless victim of its attack. Light was a continuous stab of pain. Whether his eyes were open or shut made no difference - the light found its way in, bursting upon the retina and wrapping itself around the optic nerve with flaming intensity. When he turned his head to avoid it the rough walls became a thousand claws in his scalp; they ripped into his skull, exposing his brain. He reached up to try to hold back the grey mass which dripped down his face, and groaned aloud as the manacles wrenched his wrists, raw and bleeding from his tormenting ordeal.

Time flowed in and out, like tides and eddies. Kirk knew he was a prisoner, but was it dream or reality? The Enemy was there, surely. That was real, wasn't it? He had seen Finnegan on the playground planet, too. He had thought him real, at first, but that was a generated illusion, a fantasy. Here he seemed real, hatefully, abysmally real. Here, Kirk would rather he had been the illusion. But real or not, Finnegan was still the Enemy.

Kirk's body drooped against the wall, desperate for rest that did not come, parched for lack of water, often left alone, awakening in terror when company did finally come. His days and nights ran together like the water he was denied. When visitors came, they were Klingons with Irish voices who slammed disrupters against his chest to stun him again and again, until his heart flew from his body and lay beating wildly on the floor, where the Enemy stomped it into a hundred visceral pieces as Kirk looked on.

There were times when he knew nothing, sleep or unconsciousness taking him, but they were short-lived. He awoke to water thrown in his face or a fist in his ribs, each physical torment carrying with it a cacophony of unrelated, bizarre entities. He preferred the dark - at least the nightmares he experienced there were his own.

Once he woke up alone. He knew he was awake because it was pitch black and totally silent, but he was aware of his own breathing and the sound of blood coursing through the vein in his neck. He was sitting on a rough stone bench, his back against the cold wall, both arms shackled and hung above his head. Gently, he tested the left one - it was secure. As he tried the right, the shooting pains eloquently announced the newly broken bones in his hand and wrist. _McCoy will be furious - I've undone all his handiwork._ He smiled wryly to himself. The situation was bad, but he was feeling better, wasn't he? He was thinking straight, wasn't he?

_God, I'm so tired._

Maybe the drug was wearing off a little. It had to be, or he wouldn't be sitting here in his right mind. His people on the Enterprise would find him, sooner or later. If he could just wait it out a little longer. If only no one would come and bother him for awhile, just leave him alone...

His people - they would come for him. He knew they would. Spock wouldn't stop until he had found him...

_Spock._

Jim reached out in his mind for that simple, solid presence which was always there - a comforting knowledge of the essence of the Vulcan which was only a thought away. But now there was a vast emptiness, a hard, cold shell of sorrow and forgetfulness. Kirk reached out with his hands in the blackness, the shackles arresting the movement sharply.

_Spock! Spock, where are you? _

There was no answer in the dark which surrounded him.

Fear rose up like bile in his throat as he recalled the scene of the Vulcan slumped at the table, staring blankly, his hands twitching. The vision receded, his friend drawing further away as Kirk called after him again and again, panic in his voice.

"Your Vulcan friend is not coming for you, Jim. He's dead, and your doctor friend is dead, and the Enterprise left orbit two days ago."

"Or..." Kirk swallowed hard and tried again. "Orbit?"

"Mm, yes," came the disembodied voice. Kirk strained to make out something, anything in the dark, his breathing labored. "They believe you to be dead, you see, eaten by vermin after losing yourself in the Wilderness."

_Gone. They're gone. _

No one was coming to help him, to get him out of here. He was alone.

_Alone._

And he would die here.

Suddenly the lights came on, stabbing at his mind, distorting his world again. There was the Enemy, and there, beside him, was the Klingon with the disruptor in his hand. There before his eyes was the source of all his pain and desire, his ecstasy and terror. Kirk laughed like a madman as the two figures walked toward him. His head arched back against the wall when the first stun blast hit him, and all sensation fused into a red haze of consuming flame.

"What's that you're sayin', Doctor? Mr. Spock needs me?" The chief engineer's voice was incredulous. "Beggin' your pardon, but I've no knowledge of Vulcan healin' techniques. I thought you were the expert in those matters!"

"I know enough, Mr. Scott, but I've never had to deal with hallucinogens and their effect on Vulcan physiology before. Mr. Spock has been comatose for three days now, and he is now calling your and Dr. McCoy's names. It's the first sign of any change. We must do as he asks - it may be his only hope."

Scotty was torn. He had been on the bridge most of the last three days, in temporary command, and taking the full burden of that responsibility upon himself. It was a heavy one, and he found more reason to be thankful he was an engineer and not the captain. During those three days he had sent down twice as many search teams. The third had located a petty official named Achlar who claimed to know nothing, though Mr. Scott doubted that. Baruk and Kirk had disappeared along with Baruk's bodyguard, K'tal. When they scanned the planet, however, no trace of them could be found. Scanning for humans on a predominantly humanoid planet was an exercise in futility, and certain minerals acted as a natural shield, so scanning for Klingon was equally useless if that Klingon chose to stay hidden.

The fourth and sixth teams searched the same area Chekov had scanned originally, where Spock had been located lying on top of McCoy in a refuse heap. They reported nothing except a maze of caverns, all buried under older colonist buildings now falling into decay, providing endless opportunities for concealment.

A message had been dispatched to Starfleet, but they could not expect an answer for another four days. Mr. Scott was on his own. Until help came, they could do no more than they were doing at present: scan, search, and inquire. _Maybe I ought to do a little threatenin', too_, he thought sourly. But first things first.

"Mr. Scott?" came M'Benga's disembodied voice.

"All right, Doctor. I'm on my way," Scott replied, and keyed off the comm. Sighing heavily, he turned command over to Mr. Sulu and left to join M'Benga in sickbay.


	2. Chapter 2

Achlar sat alone in the office, carelessly handling one of Baruk's chess pieces. His thoughts were of the man who had dominated him for so many years, of this planet - the only home he had known. He had been one of the lucky ones. In a civilization where paternity was the sole measure of one's place in society, he had dubious claim to a deep mine operator who could never decide whether to acknowledge Ach as his offspring. Several years earlier Baruk had taken a sadistic liking to him, an undersized teenager scuttling around in the mines, doing odd jobs and stealing food when no one was watching.

They were of a kind, Baruk and Achlar, but Baruk was dominant, and his Irish wit thinly veiled an underlying bitterness - cruel, coiled, ready to lash out at anyone and anything. Achlar had all the physical comforts in his new life, but what personal freedom he enjoyed in the old days was gone now. One did not go against Baruk.

But now Baruk was gone, disappeared along with that hulking Klingon renegade. Achlar had never liked K'tal, and as the years passed he became alarmed at the growing prominence of the Klingon as he became more and more Baruk's right hand man. To make matters worse, Ach was left alone to answer to that Scott person on the Enterprise. "May I be saved from men with accents!" he grumbled.

Lt. Commander Montgomery Scott had been tenacious and methodical in his inquiries; it was only a matter of time before he would find out what happened three nights ago. Then it would be he, Achlar ab'Nehrudt, who would have to explain to the Feds what had become of their precious Captain Kirk. _May all outworlders be swallowed in the eternal vortex_, he silently cursed. Echthra would be better off without meddlers, outsiders - always coming in with new ideas, wanting to change everything and order everyone about. But there was also the stark reality that Echthra, without outworlders, would be another empty, grey planet, and he would have no place to call home.

So, he was committed to this life, this political station, this responsibility. Or was he? How did he know that Baruk had not at the last moment dumped him, a classic scapegoat, into the hands of the UFP? How did he know whether he would be sent to some obscure penal colony to have his mind stripped clean to atone for the death of a Fleet officer? Was he ready to just accept that as his fate? Perhaps not. Perhaps it was time to take matters in his own hands again. Just maybe he could pull himself out of this one. Play the fool, the innocent bystander. But the UFP wasn't so easily persuaded. They would demand payment for Kirk's murder, and Achlar being second-in-command...

Achlar glanced about him, his eyes darting furtively like some hunted animal, his mind racing. What if Kirk were turned out into the Wilderness, the alleyways and ghettoes of the colony? Surely, if the man's mind wasn't totally destroyed, it was damaged beyond recovery. Likely he would perish there, unidentified, lost in the obscurity of nothingness - one of the No-names. And even if he were found, there would be no direct link to Achlar, no tangible evidence to connect him with Baruk's plans. Even if, by some wild chance, Kirk were to survive and recognize Achlar, the captain had no proof that the sub-commander was in any way responsible for the incident. A lot of what-if's, but Achlar knew what would happen to him if he sat back and let himself play into Baruk's hands.

He slammed his fist against the desk. _Vortex take Baruk, vortex take K'tal..._

"Vortex take them all!" he cursed, and made his way toward a certain hidden room in the crumbling mines on the outskirts of town.

Teah edged her way between two fallen spikes of masonry, using the twilight shadows to her advantage. She peered over a jumble of broken block and buckled polybild, then adjusted her position, settling in for a long wait.

She had been following K'tal off and on ever since he had disowned her, over a year ago. For days now, she had been following him into the Wilderness, waiting for an opportunity to catch him alone. So far she had been unsuccessful, and her impatience was growing. She pushed it down, using a simple mind technique her mother had shown her. Hard to do that and not think of her mother.

Teah was half-Romulan. Her mother, Salah, was an outcast from her home planet due to her brother's failure to follow the Praetor's commands. Her brother had been summarily executed, and her mother chose ritual suicide alongside her husband - leaving Salah alone, orphaned and penniless, to fend for herself. It was not long after that a Klingon trader, himself outcast, saw Salah in the marketplace and took her for his own. Teah was the only spark of light resulting from that union, birthed just four months after the unusually matched couple had settled here on Echthra. In Teah's twelve years of life she grew to admire Rihannsu loyalty, unwavering honesty, and meticulous honor. She had also learned Klingon _th'argh'u_, the fierce, brutish desire and ability to cast aside everything in order to win, or to die trying, and to die well. This odd combination of values had caused her to grow up quickly and was helping her to

survive now in a world totally unrelinquishing and alien to her - the Wilderness world.

Now that her mother was dead, murdered before her own eyes, and thrown aside like refuse by her father, Teah would have to live or die in the land of the No-names. She had no trouble acknowledging her fate - it was an accepted thing on Echthra. It was K'tal's prerogative to keep her or disown her. But her Rihannsu blood demanded justice and revenge for her mother's death... and her Klingon blood boiled for the opportunity to watch K'tal disintegrate in the flare of a disrupter.

She sighed heavily and leaned back against another sheet of polybild, resigned to the fact that she might go another night without catching her father alone. He was always with that foul Baruk anymore, with his horrible Standard accent, and his affected ways. They had been coming to this place for several evenings, now. Though her curiosity was piqued, she dared not go into the hidden room - there was too much chance of her getting trapped in a blocked corridor and being found out. That was the last thing she wanted to happen. No-names did not get a second chance for any transgression and the automatic sentence was immediate death. So she remained out here each night, biding her time.

Tonight she was a little early, so she closed her eyes to catch some sleep before they arrived. They moved like elephants anyway, so she could not possibly miss them. Her lids had barely lowered when a sudden sound near the room's entrance brought her head up, and she was surprised to see Achlar nosing around the small opening. He glanced around furtively before darting into the doorway.

_Now what is he up to?_ she wondered. She would just have to wait - there was no way she was going into that cave - and besides, she was good at waiting.

Kirk hung limply from the wrist manacles, his knees brushing the ground beneath him. The bench was gone, but he was oblivious to it. His uniform shirt was torn and drenched with sweat, bearing the singe marks of repeated disruptor stuns at close range. Dried blood encrusted the edges of his frayed sleeves. He was barely conscious of the lights coming on, his reaction only a slight trembling in his body, when Achlar came into the room. His brain registered pain when Achlar freed him of the manacles, but he was unable to prevent himself from falling on his face when he was released. Dimly, he was aware that he was being lifted, manhandled, and somehow managed to stay on his feet. He coughed harshly, his battered flesh and bruised ribs making it difficult for him to breathe, and there was a deep ache under his sternum. Achlar turned off the light as they made their way out of the room, but Kirk didn't notice. His world was already black and growing blacker.

Teah craned her neck for a better look, wishing she had a hiding place somewhat closer. She shrank back when she heard footsteps, and soon Ach stumbled out, supporting another man who leaned on him heavily. Ach was having considerable difficulty supporting the stranger's weight, but he held on and doggedly led the man away from the area, further into the Wilderness. Teah, torn between her duty to exact revenge and her child's curiosity, hesitated a moment before skittering off behind the two men, her small frame swallowed up in the darkening shadows of encroaching twilight.

"How long has he been like that?"

"If you are referring to his rigidly prone position, Leonard, ever since he was beamed aboard; however if you mean this restlessness and the calling of your and Mr. Scott's names, approximately one hour."

McCoy darted a suspicious look at M'Benga. "You're beginning to sound like them, you know."

M'Benga shot the southerner a puzzled look.

"Like the Vulcans," McCoy explained. "And frankly, one on this ship is quite enough!"

M'Benga smiled but Scotty interrupted before he could reply.

"Beggin' your pardon, but what am I doin' here? He hasn't done anythin' but call our names - I want to help him if I can, but I've got to get back to the bridge."

M'Benga sobered and moved to the other side of the monitoring couch to speak to the Chief Engineer, the body of Spock between them. "I know how difficult this must be for you, Mr. Scott. Please wait a bit longer. I am convinced you will be needed."

"Well, what happens on Vulcan in a case like this?" queried McCoy. "Maybe he's waiting for us to initiate something. This restlessness... " McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It reminds me of the last stage of a healing trance, just before it's time to smack the tar out of him. But up to now he's always asked for help himself, verbally."

"Perhaps he can't this time, Leonard. As I said, I've never had experience with a Vulcan under the influence of an hallucinogen. It may be that something has been blocked, whether self-induced I don't know, that prevents him from fully utilizing the healing techniques and disciplines."

"Well, we can't just wait around forever! We've got to do something!"

"What do you suggest, Doctor?" M'Benga was hoping to see the old spark in McCoy's eyes again. The man had been in a deep depression ever since he had been released from sickbay, though he staunchly denied it.

"Why are you asking me?" McCoy retorted, going on the defensive. M'Benga remained silent. Seeing he would receive no suggestions from the specialist, McCoy turned back to his patient and studied Spock's inert features for a long time. "I suppose Scotty and I could touch him - try to make contact in some way.

Spock is a touch telepath, after all."

M'Benga nodded and watched Scott and McCoy tentatively put their hands on Spock's shoulders and upper arms. Spock's restlessness decreased and his eyes moved under the closed lids, but there was no other response. McCoy looked at Scotty, who shrugged. McCoy, feeling totally out of his league, gave M'Benga a look of chagrin. "Sorta like the laying on of hands, ain't it?"

"I have heard it was not without its merits," M'Benga replied, solemnly.

"It is an historical as well as Biblical fact, Doctor," said Mr. Spock.

McCoy and Scotty jerked their hands away from the first officer as he were molten lava.

"Spock! You're awake!"

"Dr. McCoy, your inherent ability to state the obvious is, for once, very gratifying," the Vulcan remarked, as he sat up. McCoy, not sure whether to be offended or pleased, was a study of smiles and frowns.

"Mr. Spock, Sir! I dinna ken how you did it, but I'm glad you did!" Scotty was grinning from ear to ear and thumping Spock on the back before he realized just who he was thumping. Breaking it off hastily, he added: "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Spock, but... well, I can't help it! It is good to have you back!"

"Quite all right, Mr. Scott. I can understand how human emotions can make one do or say completely illogical things. However," he continued, as Scotty's face fell, "I find your current expression of emotion strangely satisfactory."

Scotty's face cleared as quickly as it had clouded over.

"Mr. Spock, that makes two compliments you've made the human race in as many minutes," commented M'Benga, glancing at McCoy. "How can we humans stand it?"

Spock, not used to such wisecracking from the usually somber M'Benga, took a moment to realize that the man was trying to get a rise out of McCoy, who was currently studying his feet, his hands behind his back. Spock's brows lowered into a frown.

"Sir, are you able to take over command now? My bairns have not been properly looked after for over three days and I must see to them. I can brief you on the way to the bridge."

Spock's dark eyes grew unfathomable. "Isn't the captain there?"

The instant silence was palpable. M'Benga, Scott and McCoy exchanged uneasy glances, uncomfortably reminded that although Spock was back, major problems yet remained.

But at least Spock was back. "Sir, if you'll come with me, I'll fill you in."

Scotty squared his shoulders and escorted the Vulcan from sickbay, talking to him in an increasing brogue as he found voice to vent the frustration of the last three days and his inability to solve the mystery of their missing captain.

As they left, McCoy jerked out of his dark reverie. He had a thousand questions for Spock - what he remembered about that night... He started after the science officer and engineer but was stopped by M'Benga's hand on his arm.

"I don't believe now is a good time, Leonard."

"How do you know whether it's a good time or not, blast it! I just have a few questions... "

M'Benga gently interrupted him with an upraised hand. "I know you have unresolved matters on your mind, Len, but you must understand that he does, too. Don't let that calm demeanor fool you. He has simply pushed it all aside until he can deal with it in his own way - as you must deal with yours."

McCoy scowled at a nearby biobed for some moments, arms crossed protectively, before raising his troubled eyes to M'Benga's. Nodding mutely, he left sickbay without another word.

It was a rather interesting way to wake up, with a leg hoisted unceremoniously in the air and a posterior view of a child trying to remove one of his boots.

Teah was so busy trying to remove the tall black footwear from the unconscious stranger she failed to notice he had opened his eyes. She continued to worry the unbudgeable boot, only slowly becoming aware of the stranger's curious gaze. She turned to look at him, dropping his leg. The man grimaced with pain at the sudden movement.

The child's rigid back and slightly bent knees sent off a silent alarm in the man's brain. She may be a child, but she was a fighter. And right now, judging by the trouble he was having with his sight (not to mention the aches and pains he felt throughout his body), she was probably very capable of overwhelming him, even killing him if she had the right weapon.

Kirk sat up slowly so as not to frighten her, but the sudden movement of his broken wrist brought on an involuntary gasp of pain. Immediately she was in a crouch over him, a club in her hand. _Where did that come from?_ They remained frozen in their respective positions, not moving an inch, until Kirk's abused chest and abdomen complained of holding his half-sitting position too long. He spread his hands slowly and lay back, hoping she would back off and avoid a confrontation. After a minute, she also backed away and lowered the club, though she still held it loosely in her grip. She gazed longingly at the boots, shrugged philosophically, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Kirk called after her, feeling suddenly cold and weak. He pushed himself up to one knee, unable to stand just yet, and held out his good hand to her.

"Where are you going?"

The child looked back over her shoulder and studied him a moment. _He's dead meat,_ she thought. _Nothing but trouble_. She continued on, ignoring him.

"No, wait, please!" Kirk called again. The sight of the little figure leaving him alone in the encroaching darkness sent rivulets of fear down his back, like sweat. He struggled to his feet, swaying a little, and started after her, squinting to see through his double-vision.

As he attempted to follow, Teah turned quickly, brandishing the club once again.

"You stay away!" she shouted in Standard. "I don't want you to follow me!"

Kirk brought himself up short, realizing her aggressiveness was a sign of fear on her part. He took a step back. "I won't if you don't want me to," he said, quietly. He looked around at the mass of broken blocks and twisted polybild. It looked like a war zone. "What is this place? I don't... " He put a hand to his aching head. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Hunh!" she replied derisively. "Who does?" She walked away again, realizing this man was no threat. It was all he could do to stay on his feet, obviously.

What did she care?

"Don't go!" he called, but she didn't turn around. _I'm not listening to him! I can't do this - what am I, stupid? _She kept walking, expecting to hear him call out again, but there was silence. It was that silence that caused her to look back, despite herself. The man had stumbled to his knees and was trying to stand again, failing.

It would be easy for her to slip into the shadows and leave him far behind, but his helplessness stirred something deep within her. _Compassion has no place here_, she told herself, unconsciously reciting the mantra of the Wilderness, and she pushed the emotion away. She whirled around and pointed a finger at him. "Look, you. You're in the Wilderness. It's a place where we all come, the No-Names. You must have been cast out, too, cut off like the rest of us. You're a No-Name now, and you have to make your way the best you can, just like me." She found herself hating what she was saying to him, but it was necessary.

She looked up at the sound of distant thunder. A slight breeze kicked up, ruffling her tangled hair. "You'd better get to some shelter soon." _I've already done more for him than anyone else here would have_. "See? It's going to rain." _I don't owe him anything! _

She left him, then. Under the cover of shadow in the fast waning light, she slipped behind a fallen door and watched to see what he would do.

Kirk stood hesitating for a moment, then straightened. He jerked on a filthy shirt with his good hand and started off in her direction. As Teah prepared to run, he stumbled and fell, cowering on the ground like a beaten dog. He wasn't doing that a minute ago! Puzzled by this change in behavior, her innate curiosity drew her closer to see what he was up to. As she approached, he sat back on his heels and shook his head, trying to clear it. Again he tried to stand and was more successful this time, using a crumbling wall for support.

Something was wrong with this No-Name... he was reeling like a drunken man.

Sympathy welled in her once more, unbidden and unwelcome, as she remembered what her mother had said: _ Never be afraid to help someone who is weaker than you. Giving of yourself gives you strength, Teah._ She heard her mother's words, and bounced them off the bulwark of self-preservation she had built around herself. Why now?

_Why would I think of mother in a time like this?_

Kirk had just about had it. He suffered from blurred vision and a rapid, painful heartbeat, and was faint and weak due to the hallucinogens which still wreaked havoc in his body. The torture he had endured for two days and three nights had done damage, too: his gut hurt; his chest was tight and it hurt to breathe; his wrist, swollen twice its normal size, throbbed in tandem with his pulse; the skin where the manacles held his hands was raw and oozing blood. The worst of it was a nagging, unreasoning fear. Like a bad dream, it taunted and harassed him as he stood there, trying to sort out his jumbled and confused thoughts. He was in trouble, and he knew it. Kirk fought to keep to his feet, hoping - praying that as he stood there he could once more get control, but it was almost too much for him. A sense of overwhelming fatigue washed over him, and he began to consider just letting go, sleeping where he fell. But there was a part of him that wouldn't give in, couldn't just 'let go.'

As he slumped against the wall, straining to see in the gloom, he saw a small figure walking cautiously toward him. A rush of relief went through him and his features lit up with a crooked smile. "You came back."

"Obviously," she replied sarcastically, raising one eyebrow. The gesture was familiar to him, intimately close. It brought with it a memory of dark hair, a blue shirt, but for some reason he couldn't see the face. The eyes, though...

An arc of lightning stabbed through the black night, outlining the area in an explosion of electric blue. Kirk cried out as the sudden flare triggered uncontrolled synapses in his brain. He threw his arms over his head and huddled against the wall. Teah watched in amazement for a moment, then knelt in front of him, calling out to him, but he didn't respond. She reached out tentatively and touched his arm, making the barest of contact.

"Ow!" She recoiled abruptly, feeling a pain that radiated from her fingers up into her forearm. She wiggled her fingers, the twinges receding. Thunders!! Teah knew that she was beginning to develop the same abilities her mother had, but because she made it a policy not to touch or be touched, she had been unaware of how far these abilities had already developed, until now.

This was going to make things difficult.

Carefully, she touched the man again, prepared this time, and the discomfort was manageable. Slowly, he responded: his breathing slowed and he focused on her, the lopsided smile returning briefly as he recognized her. Teah stood up and surveyed him, hands on hips.

"Well, I can't leave you here, can I? You can't take care of yourself, can you? You're a mess!"

The man nodded absently, cradling his damaged wrist with his good hand. Teah's face softened a fraction.

"I'd better do something about that hand, at least. Come on, you," she said, helping him to stand. She brought his undamaged arm around her shoulder and gripped him around the waist as best she could. This physical contact was different from the touch of his arm; she was shocked at the onslaught of

physical pain that racked his body, and at the harried mental activity in the man. She had to shield to protect herself from some of the strange thought patterns he was emanating. She was too young to understand the physiological and psychological effect mind-altering chemicals had upon the brain, but she knew instinctively that he was on overload and was incapable of coping with the flood of signals he was receiving. And he was afraid, terribly afraid. He was trying very hard not to show it, but it gripped her own heart like ice. Again her mother's words came to her. It wouldn't hurt to give him a little reassurance, surely? As she guided him along, stumbling often under his sagging weight, she gently lowered her shields.

_It's okay, No-Name. I'm going to take care of you, 'til you're better. You can rest soon._

_I can't. There's no rest for me._

Teah was surprised to receive communication from the man in the same fashion she had sent it. She had never communicated this way with anyone but Salah and had never wanted to try after her mother's death. Now here she was, reaching out to help someone other than herself, and in a manner she had herself rejected. K'tal would not have approved. _Good!_ she thought to herself. _I'm not looking for his approval, anyway_. Resolved, she reached out to the stranger again.

_There's always rest in the company of a friend._ _My name's Teah, and_... She hesitated, weighing her words, her heart. _And I am your friend_.

Kirk was strangely warmed by these thought-words and the pressure in his mind eased a little. He realized he was putting too much of a strain on the child and shifted his weight, which made walking a little better. She kept his arm over her shoulder, however, and that was a comfort.

"Thank... Thank you... Teah." The man was having difficulty speaking. "I want to be your friend, too."

"What's your name?" the girl asked.

"I'm..." Kirk frowned, reaching for something - couldn't find it. "My name... uh, my name... "

Teah felt the confusion and frank surprise in the man, that he couldn't remember something as simple as his name. She reassured him through the touch link she shared with him, and he looked down at her.

"It's Jim."

"Just Jim?"

"I... yeah," he replied with some humor. "Just Jim."

"All right, Jim. Welcome to the Wilderness. Are you hungry?"

"Not really." Just now the thought of anything on his stomach subjected Kirk to waves of nausea.

"You will, soon enough. I can see now I'm going to have to teach you how to take care of yourself here. Somehow I don't think you're used to this kind of living."

Kirk just nodded, the world descending upon his shoulders. He was in the middle of nowhere, with no memory of who or what he was, injured and sick, and quite possibly out of his mind. He was completely dependent upon this girl, at least for now, as they made their way deeper into the jumbled maze of the Wilderness. They were alone - cast out.

But they were together.

"Lt. Uhura, how long until we receive Starfleet's reply to Mr. Scott's message?"

"Approximately three days, Mr. Spock."

"Lieutenant, if I want an approximation I will so specify."

Uhura's eyes lowered under Spock's gaze. His tone was almost peremptory. Naturally he would never admit to that, so she chose to ignore it. "Of course, Mr. Spock. We are expecting a reply in exactly two point nine-four-seven days.

"This does not take into account any subspace interference, Sir," she added, not wanting him to call her on the carpet again in front of the bridge personnel.

"Satisfactory." Spock toggled a switch on the captain's console. "Mr. Scott, have you completed the desired maintenance on ship's engines?"

"Aye, Mr. Spock, we're just finishin' up here. The engines are purrin' like kittens, and I... "

"Very well, Mr. Scott," interrupted the Vulcan, knowing Scotty's predilection for discussing his beloved engines. "Meet me and Dr. McCoy in the transporter room. We will be beaming down to Echthra immediately. I'll brief you in transit."

"Aye, Sir."

"Uhura, inform Dr. McCoy to meet me and Mr. Scott with all haste in the transporter room - standard landing party medical kit." He handed her a tape. "This is my last entry in the ship's log, Lieutenant. Please send it by subspace channel to Starfleet. It will bring them up to date on the latest developments, including my intention to interrogate one Mr. Nehrudt. There is also a prearranged code that you are to employ should any of our landing party request beamup. No transport is to take place without the code. Understood, Lieutenant?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Spock," she answered, leaning back from the towering nearness of the science officer.

"Mr. Sulu, you have the con. You will maintain this orbit until you receive orders from me or Starfleet. Lt. Uhura will brief you on the other details you will require from the log tape. I am somewhat pressed."

Spock turned and practically marched off the bridge, his usual cat-like stride gone.

Sulu and Uhura exchanged glances.

"Why are the hairs standing up on the back of my neck?"

"Believe me, Sulu, I have known Mr. Spock for quite some time, and I have _never_ seen that look in his eyes before. I wouldn't want to be that Nehrudt person for anything!"

Spock rode the lift in brooding silence. He knew his behavior on the bridge was inexcusable, but he would have to deal with that later. The one immutable thing fixed in his mind was locating and rescuing his captain and friend. While in the catatonic state, he had envisioned an incident over and over: an area of broken walls and tumbledown buildings, his coming around the edge of a crumbling foundation and sighting the familiar gold of a command uniform, the approach in nightmarish slow-motion. Finding his friend, Jim's body broken and battered, face white and still. Kneeling beside his captain and pulling him into his arms, reaching out with the link and finding only emptiness. Sorrow and loneliness enveloping him, then finding himself back among the ruins, looking for his friend, the loop repeatedly playing itself out: search, discovery, loss and grief. Over and over again.

Back in the dining hall on Echthra, when the hallucinogen began to take effect, Spock had reached out to Jim in panic, a totally undisciplined and human reaction. What he encountered within his friend was a mind in turmoil, drenched in anxiety, disorientation and a myriad other emotions. Jim evidenced a faint

recognition of the contact, but it receded as Kirk bent all his will to get to Baruk. As the chemicals systematically broke down the barriers in the Vulcan officer's mind, the old disciplines fled and he found himself wanting to howl in fury, to throw anything he could lay his hands on, to pick up the carving knife nearby and decimate the barbarians who surrounded him. His self-control ebbing away, Spock had called upon every ounce of reserve and will he had left and slammed the door on the chemical insanity, shutting down his physical processes until they were practically non-existent. His last conscious thought was that given the state he was in, he may not be able to even initiate a healing trance, much less complete it. So he had formed a mental key to sanity - the one hope of returning. The thread between him and Kirk was so frail it was in danger of snapping, so he thought of two other prominent people in his life: Scotty and

McCoy. They were the tie-in. The key. Then, for a while, his mind had known only darkness.

Somehow the healing state had been initiated, despite the slowing of the process by the repeating nightmare. As Spock began to come back, reaching new levels of consciousness one by one, he had called out to Kirk. Each time, at each new level, he met pain and horror, and each time he despaired of finding Jim.

Until two nights ago.

Spock had been resting, not moving between levels, not dreaming – only aware. Suddenly he had heard Kirk repeatedly calling his name, the captain's fear and panic spilling over into Spock's heart. He had struggled to answer, ripping at mental barriers and partitions, but had been too weak to break through. His friend's cries had turned into hysterical laughter before the tenuous link finally snapped. It was then Spock knew that, though he was not ready, though all the learned disciplines, locks and safeguards were not yet fully in place, he must come out of the healing trance. He must call on the key.

And they had responded, McCoy and Scotty, in the puzzling, emotional manner of humans.

The lit doors opened. Spock drew a deep breath and pushed down all extraneous thought. A day had been wasted with continued scans and search parties, and now, as he exited the lift and made his way to the transporter room, Spock knew he must find out for himself whether the link was buried in Jim's subconscious or truly severed - and his best friend dead.

Scott and McCoy were waiting as he entered the Transporter Room, and without a word they mounted the pad. As the first tingles of the beam sparkled around them, Spock was surprised to feel McCoy's hand on his arm. He looked into the doctor's eyes and saw understanding and encouragement in their blue depths.

"We'll find him, Spock," the doctor said.

Spock inclined his head in agreement and thanks. "We have made a beginning, at least," he replied, his voice echoing hollowly as the beam caught them away.

"Would you please... explain... what we're doing up here?"

"Hush! You want the man to hear you? Just shut up and watch, and you'll know soon enough."

Teah and Jim, along with several other No-Names of dubious acquaintance, had scrambled to the top of a ridge late at night. Silhouetted by stars, they looked down the other side to a refrigeration warehouse, its back lot littered with trash and shipping cartons. Its perimeter was patrolled by a sleepy-looking guard, whose harmless image was ruined, however, by the weapon he carried. Jim stood a little to the side, drawing breath after the long climb.

Today was his first 'outing' since Teah had found him two nights ago. She had taken him to a small cave beneath a former mine office where he had been able to sleep, eat a little, and slowly overcome the effects of the drug in his body. Sudden sensory input still affected him, but less than before, and he was gaining some control over his reaction to it - at least his emotional response. The physical reactions were something else.

Like his loss of memory.

His chest still bothered him. Teah had put an ointment on the burns and found him another shirt to wear, but there was a tightness - a heaviness, as if a weight were on him, when he exerted himself in any way. Just now it was all he could do to draw breath. Teah darted a look of warning at him and he tried to slow his breathing. He crouched low and moved beside her to look at the scene below. His eyebrows drew down in a frown.

"We're going down there? That's a phaser-rifle, in case you hadn't noticed," Jim hissed. "They've been outlawed. The lowest stun setting has been known to take off a man's arm if mishandled!"

"Yeah? How come you know so much?" mouthed one of the gang, a surly 17-year-old who called himself Dex and achieved dubious status by bullying. All but Teah - nobody bullied her.

"I said shut up!" Teah gave each of them a shove, her hidden Klingon strength knocking them off-balance. "Men make more noise than a kilo-crusher," she muttered.

"There he goes," called the lookout, a tall Andorian girl with a deformed antenna. Sure enough, the guard was disappearing around the corner of the building.

"All right Jim, you listen, and you listen good. You'll be lookout while we go down."

"Why can't I go down?"

"Hah!" snorted Dex, "you'd just fall down, stupid, and mess everything up again. You could hardly make it up here."

"Quiet!" Teah stared Dex into submission, then looked back at Kirk. "We're going to create a diversion and when the guard calls the fire crew, we'll go in the window and take the food. If you see that guard coming before we can start the fire, yell like crazy. Can you do that?"

Teah was looking at Kirk like she wasn't certain what he would do. He knew she was thinking about how he had bungled a simple shoplifting in the square that morning. He hadn't felt comfortable taking something that didn't belong to him. And it was true that later on he did almost fall off the roof when they hid there, firing rotten tomatoes at a vendor while some of their gang stole fruit right off his stand. But this was all new to him; he would get the hang of it - sooner or later. After all, it was a matter of survival, and survival was the basic tenet at the aca...

Kirk blinked hard, trying to remember, and failing. The partial memory was gone again, slipped away like a leaf on a stream.

Dex laughed harshly, a hoarse bark in the night. "Hah! I told you, Teah, he's no good for us. He's got no guts. Do you, stupid?"

Jim ignored Dex and drew himself up. "Yes, Teah, I can do that."

Teah nodded. "Okay, let's go. Stay alert!" Teah and the others scrambled down the hillside, and it was soon quiet.

Jim peered into the starlit night, watching for signs of the guard. As he stared, his peripheral vision picked up a falling star and he watched it burn up in the planet's atmosphere. He looked up into the sky, saw the galaxy's edge arching through the night, its white purity trembling there. Kirk's heart leaped and he began to shake uncontrollably. That was where he belonged. Up there. This - he dragged his eyes downward to the rock-strewn hillside and trash-laden yard below - this was all wrong.

_I don't belong here._

A noise from below brought him out of his reverie and he jumped to his feet, guilt smearing over him like glue for having broken his watch. The noise was soon accompanied by a muffled whump and a spire of flame shot up ten meters into the air. Dimly, he could see dark figures scurry under cover, waiting for the guard. He came soon enough and whipped out his comlink to call a fire crew. In the ensuing confusion - alarms blaring, searchlights flashing, fire crew and the curious milling around - Jim saw two figures dart into an open window, given a leg up by two others. After what seemed like a lifetime, they came out, laden with boxes.

"Come on, come on," he whispered, watching them go back in for another load. How long before they would be found out? He felt useless standing there on the hillside; they certainly didn't need him to watch for the guard now. But they probably could use an extra hand with that food. His mind made up, he went down to meet them.

Clearing the last tangle of low shrubs and outcropping rock, he was almost run over by Teah and the others as they scrambled madly for distance. The Andorian, Nystar, brought up the rear, carrying a particularly awkward and heavy box. Directly behind her was the guard, phaser-rifle aimed.

Kirk reacted without thinking. He dove for Nystar and knocked her to the ground in a flying tackle, the phaser whining over their heads just inches away. They lay there for a few seconds, Nystar in his arms. Kirk was trying so hard to breathe he saw sparkles in his vision. The guard had temporarily lost his target in the dark and was moving erratically on the hillside below them. Kirk sat up. "Let's get out of here!"

He grabbed her by the hand and started for the ridge, but she wouldn't go with him.

"No. I have to get the box." Her voice was soft, whispery, like all her kind, but it was hard with determination.

"You can't go back - you'll be killed! You want to die grabbing a box of food?"

Nystar looked at him then, catching his eyes with hers. "That is what you have not learned, yet. Life _is _food. Only that." Her eyes faltered and she looked away, back toward the box lying just a few feet away. It may as well have been a few hundred feet. "You are lucky to have Teah take you in," she murmured, then looked back at him again, shaking her head. "It is unprecedented." Her lip curled. "I would have left you to the rats." With that, she jerked her arm free of Kirk's grasp and made her way to the box. Struggling to lift it, she knocked loose a cascade of loose gravel which clattered down the hill. The sudden noise alarmed her, she straightened, and before Kirk could call out she was briefly enveloped in a blue halo before she collapsed. Kirk started toward her but was brought up short by a muscular arm around his neck.

"She's dead, No-Name. Just like you'll be if you don't get out of here." Dex looked back over his shoulder at the sound of the guard struggling up the hill.

"Run like hell," he whispered, and shoved Kirk in the general direction of the others. He turned and grappled with the guard as he appeared over the rise.

Kirk turned in mid-stride, a hand on his chest, hesitating as he watched the young gang member and the guard fight, the rifle between them. _This is crazy! We can't leave him to fight alone!_ Kirk made to start down the hill, but Teah grabbed him by a shirt sleeve and held him back. Jim pulled away, moving back down toward the struggling men, but the blue halo erupted again - much brighter this time - revealing both the guard and Dex in its field before they disappeared. Kirk stopped, staring in disbelief. "It was set for kill... It was set for kill, for God's sake! For what? Some lousy _vegetables_?!"

Teah grabbed his sleeve again and guided him up the hill. Kirk didn't realize he was crying as they struggled toward the rise. He only knew the pain that enveloped him every time he moved or breathed; he only felt the old vertigo and weakness return again as he looked over his shoulder at the smoke and smoldering embers of a contained fire. He no longer saw or cared about the stars above him. He only saw the disembodied blue shadows of Dex and the guard, and the crumpled form of the Andorian girl left behind like the rest of the cartons, broken and discarded.

Teah sat on a crate, munching a piece of stale bread. Her knees were drawn up to her chest for warmth and she leaned against the wall behind her, struggling to stay awake. Kirk lay asleep across the cave from her, just visible in the soft light of her lantern. He had refused to eat anything after their warehouse raid and wouldn't say much, just that he was tired.

It was more than fatigue, she knew. Teah had seen what a disruptor could do at close range; the murder of her mother had taught the daughter well. Jim suffered the same burns, but it looked like the attacks had been spaced apart and of shorter duration, not all at once like K'tal's attack on Salah. Probably that Baruk. He was a vicious man, like K'tal, but the Klingon was of a warrior race, and preferred dispatching his enemies quickly. Baruk, on the other hand, would have enjoyed seeing Jim stunned again and again. There was probably some internal damage; a man of Jim's stature and build should have easily carried himself on their errands today but, though he was willing, he was tired, off-balance, and obviously in pain.

But what really bothered her was his constant searching for something - something he had once known or experienced. She had seen him try to remember and grow frustrated when he could not. Several times he had seemed on the verge of remembering, even speaking it, only to have it fade away. He never said anything, but his eyes showed the emotions he tried to conceal.

Why she had taken this No-Name in, she still didn't know. Then again, maybe she did. The Klingon in her considered her kindness toward the man a weakness which would only bring her down in the end. The Romulan in her regarded her act as questionable, not having been weighed carefully. But the things she had learned at her mother's knee were what really drove her now. Teah, at the young age of 12, already knew that though the world was hard, there was more to life than managing to eke out another day of existence in it. Underneath her shell, her physical strength and shrewdness, Teah was still a little girl, and her mother's little girl, at that. She had only tried to forget, because that made it easier for her to hate her father, and to go on wanting to kill him.

Finding Jim had changed all that.

She sat up, brushing crumbs off her shirt. Though it had been awkward, even painful, for her to hear the man's thoughts when she first came in contact with him (and why she now grabbed his sleeve to get his attention), she knew their immediate and clear communication through the crude link was rare between different species. In fact, her own acuity was rare, given her mixed heritage and the subjugation of such abilities in the Romulan culture. Teah hoped that by touching him again she may be able to see past the walls he could not broach, maybe help him to find out what he was looking for.

Because that was the difference, she saw, between real No-Names and Jim. He was not a cast-out, not in the true sense of the word. Baruk had sent him here, but he still belonged - somewhere. And she wanted to help him find out where that was.

"There's nothing I can do for him, Spock. His neck is broken."

Spock and McCoy looked upon the body of Achlar ab'Nehrudt, seated primly in a chair, his head at that strange angle that tells you all you need to know. This was the final blow to a day's futile search.

"My guess is that he's been dead for several hours," sighed McCoy, straightening from his examination. "There goes our last link with the captain," he muttered.

"Not necessarily, Doctor," Spock advised. "Mr. Scott, what are the results of the most recent scans?"

"Just about what we thought, based on what we've found in talkin' to the general public, about the subculture here. There are groups of people, children mostly, who live out in what they call the Wilderness. They pretty much take care of themselves and are considered outcasts by the citizens we talked to. Not a lot of empathy for 'em, either. I expect it's a pretty hard way to live."

Spock's communicator came to life.

"Spock here."

"Mr. Spock, this is Chambers. President Baruk has not been seen by anyone in the main offices for days, Sir. K'tal is supposedly with him, since they were practically inseparable when he was in his office. Nehrudt was his office assistant, so the three of them were constantly together."

"Until now," McCoy commented, looking down at the murdered clerk.

Lt. Chambers signed off and Spock closed his communicator.

Then Scott's communicator chirped to life. "Scott here."

"Lt. Rivers, Sir. K'tal has been spotted about half a click from here. We have a team going after him now."

"Don't lose him, Rivers, and don't harm a hair on his head! Give us your coordinates; we'll join you directly."

Spock closed his communicator; McCoy and Scott followed him out of the room.

Teah timidly edged up to the sleeping commander. She wanted to help this man, but she was afraid, not only of what she may have to endure during the contact, but what else she might find out about herself. There was another side to her, a softer, more resilient side, more like her mother, that served no purpose in the Wilderness. At least that was what she had convinced herself. But so far helping Jim hadn't hurt her. In fact, she rather liked having someone to look after. It recalled the days when her mother looked after her. The family had been flawed, but Salah's love for her daughter was not. She _wanted_ to help him, Teah realized. What did she care what the other No-Names would think?

Teah reached out and touched Kirk on the shoulder, a feather touch, so as not to wake him. He stirred briefly and coughed, but soon settled down again. Teah sat cross-legged beside him and began to open herself to him...

Spock, Scott and McCoy were nearing the coordinates Rivers had given them when they saw the lieutenant coming toward them, frowning. _This doesn't look good_, McCoy thought.

Rivers spread his hands. "He got away from us, Sir. One minute he was there on my tricorder, the next he was just - gone!" The young man blew out a gust of air in frustration.

Spock nodded. "Not unusual given the nature of the planet, Lieutenant. Is this were you last saw him?"

"Yes, Sir, or at least Ensign Dahmers did. He's over past that old building there, trying to pick up another reading."

As Spock checked his own tricorder readings and got more information from the lieutenant, Scotty and McCoy wandered around aimlessly, or to all appearances. Actually, Scotty had spotted movement over to their left and motioned for McCoy to help him corral their uninvited visitor. McCoy created a diversion, dropping his medikit and making a great show of picking up the contents, while Scotty skirted around the perimeter as quietly as he could.

In a flash, he reached under a block of polybild and pulled out a scrawny child, kicking and yelling, her tangled hair straggling into her eyes. She fought hard to free herself, but Scotty's grip on the back of her collar prevented her from clawing or kicking herself loose.

"Now, now, lass, You'd best settle down. We're not goin' to hurt you."

Spock approached the struggling girl and looked carefully at her for a moment before addressing the doctor. "Dr. McCoy, what do you make of this brow ridge?"

"Klingon, obviously,lthough not as prominent. The rest of her bone structure isn't right for that species, either. Note the upswept eyebrows, too, and the greenish hue of her skin."

McCoy stopped, hesitated a moment, then impulsively pushed her hair away from an ear to reveal the classic pointed auricle of Vulcan ancestry. Spock's eyebrow went up. So did Teah's.

"A Vulcan girl on this planet?" Scotty looked incredulous.

"Rihannsu, fool!" spat the girl, still struggling.

"Now wait a minute, young lady. It's very bad manners to address your elders in that way. So I'm a fool, am I? Just who is holdin' who, here?"

Teah saw the futility in continuing to struggle and relaxed a little. Scotty loosened his hold but grabbed her arm for insurance.

"Mr. Scott, did not Mr. Chekov pick up a Klingon/Romulan life form reading when he was searching for me?"

"Aye, Sir, that he did; he thought he was misreadin' his instruments."

"What was the location of that life form?"

"Near to where you and Dr. McCoy were located, Mr. Spock." He turned a wary eye to the girl. "Very near," he added, suspiciously.

"Young lady," began Spock.

"Teah," she snapped back.

"Teah, I believe you may have some information which will enable us to locate our... locate someone we know who is lost, possibly injured or ill."

"Why would I want to tell you anything? Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Look here, Miss, there's no use in going on that way. We were looking for a Klingon in this area, lost him, and then you show up, half-Klingon... " McCoy held up his tricorder which confirmed their captive's assertions. "... and half-Romulan."

Teah looked away. McCoy could swear she was trying not to cry. "As far as I can tell, you and K'tal are the only Klingons on this planet. I call that a lot more than coincidence."

Teah bit her lip and held her head up defiantly.

Scotty, watching the emotions play out on her stoic features, felt sympathy for this girl, recognized her attempt to show her fearlessness in front of these strangers.

"Teah," he began, moving his hand from her arm to her shoulder. "If you talk to us, you may make it possible for us to help someone who's in trouble. Have you never been in trouble, Lass?"

Teah didn't answer, but she didn't have to.

"Wouldn't you like knowin' that if it was you who needed the help, someone would lend a hand?"

"No one helps anyone here," she said, her voice thick. She ignored the little voice that said, _You did_.

Scotty's heart went out to the girl with her tough exterior - outcast, certainly, by the looks of her, and probably consigned against her will to this Wilderness they'd recently learned about. She was so young, but life had already dealt out more than she needed. Mixed parentage, orphaned probably, hardened by the way she must make her existence. What kind of place was this colony, anyway?

He squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Listen, Lassie, where I come from there's just a few who do care about the likes of us."

She cut her eyes toward him, gazing at the engineer intently. "What do you mean, 'the likes of us'?"

"Just what you're thinkin', Lass," said the Scotsman, his eyes crinkling with compassion. "I'm an orphan, too."

McCoy glanced at Scott with surprise, but Spock stood, unmoving. All his life, despite having a father and mother, he too had felt orphaned at times. Child of mixed heritage, at home nowhere but in space, he was friends with no one but a few aboard the Enterprise, betrothed to no one but the now forbidden T'Pring, and looking forward to a future that was empty. With no heirs to succeed him, he would age more slowly than his circle of friends. Eventually he would watch them grow old and die, if they weren't killed in the line of duty first. The mental trauma he had so recently suffered, waking up to find Jim gone, brought that realization home to him harder than ever before...

McCoy interrupted Spock's thoughts.

"Miss Teah, the man we're lookin' for is - or at least was wearing a gold shirt. He's about my height, with light brown hair."

Teah studied McCoy a moment, looking him over. Her eyes rested on his feet.

"Does he have boots like yours?"

"Yes," was the drawled answer. For the first time, McCoy noticed Teah's bare feet. "He'd be dressed like us, only the shirt is gold. Oh, and his right wrist might have been bandaged."

"It was." Suddenly Teah smiled, and though it was a small one, it wiped years off her face. "He said McCoy would be mad." McCoy looked puzzled, and she continued, "He broke it again - actually Baruk probably broke it for him - but I know some first aid. My bandage probably isn't as pretty as yours was, but it's healing well."

"Not that I disbelieve you, young lady, but I'd like to make that determination myself."

"Teah," said Spock, "would you please take us to this man? He is likely suffering from more than a broken wrist."

Spock's and Teah's eyes locked, and she picked up a sense from him - sadness, and loss. _This Vulcan is suffering, too._ But did she really want to tell them where Jim was? That was why she had come here, following K'tal from the room where Jim had been kept and tortured to this location. She knew K'Tal was her only hope in running into some of Jim's friends, the people she had learned about through her link with the man as he slept. But did they need Jim as much as he thought he needed them? She glanced over at McCoy. Was his heart as heavy as Spock's?

Still, if she told them where Jim was, they would take him away, and she would never see any of them again. She would have to go back to the life she had been leading before Jim came. Which was no life at all.

Despair was in Teah's eyes. "You want to take Jim away with you, don't you?" The landing party exchanged looks when she said their captain's name, hope rekindling. But with the hope came new anxiety for Spock. He reached out for Jim with the link. There was something, but he couldn't connect. He felt an increasing urgency to find his friend - he sensed that Jim was in imminent danger, and time was short.

"Teah-Lass," said Scotty, gently, "we must take him back to the ship; there's not much Dr. McCoy can do for him here."

"But he's all right," she protested, her fear of being left alone growing. "He just can't remember things and he gets tired a lot, and sometimes his chest hurts him, but... "

"Teah, he's not all right," said McCoy, growing alarmed at Teah's description of Kirk's symptoms. "Haven't you noticed anything strange about him, other than his loss of memory? You said he got tired - that his chest hurt. What do you mean by that?"

"He... he falls down sometimes. He has trouble breathing and coughs - it hurts him, but he doesn't say anything about it. His head gives him trouble, too, but that's getting better," she hastened to say, wanting to reassure these people, to let them know Jim had been in good hands, that he was doing fine in the Wilderness with her watching over him. "He'll be all right," she pleaded. "He's learning how to live here! I let him stay with me. You can't take him away! He... he needs me."

Her features registered acknowledgement of her recent discovery, cemented now that she had finally brought herself to accept it. Here, at last, there was someone who needed her, depended upon her, and she had grown to like it. The thought of giving that up now... _Oh, Mother, how I wish you were still here with me_. Tears welled in her eyes, the first she had shed since her mother's death.

She felt a strong arm slide along her shoulders and looked up into the engineer's face.

"Oh, Lass, you're too young to carry the burden all by yourself. Let us help you, then."

Teah stood stiffly for a moment, then found herself leaning into the Scotsman's embrace, amazed and bewildered that she could find such expressionless comfort in the arms of a stranger. It was the same comfort that her mother had given her during the days of her life. Teah cried noiselessly, realizing that though love may come in many forms, and from strange sources, it was still the same love.

"I'll take you to him," she said, her voice muffled in Scotty's shirt.

Spock and McCoy followed Teah out into the Wilderness, Rivers and Dahmer in tow. Teah's hand was clasped fast by another orphan-child. To McCoy, who walked alone behind them, it seemed only right.


	3. Chapter 3

Kirk didn't remember much after the warehouse raid. He woke up in pitch blackness, but then again, it was always black in the cavern unless a lantern was burning. He assumed that's where he was, the place Teah called home and had brought him that first night when she found him and tried to steal his boots. He listened - there was no sound of Teah's soft breathing; she'd gone out again.

When she was gone, searching for food or looking for this K'Tal person, his former torturer and resident Klingon yes-man to Baruk, he felt the pressure in his mind more acutely. As long as Teah was nearby, he could latch on to something she called 'peace.' It was a lifeline of sorts, but it had no real foundation, based solely on his need. He didn't fully understand it, but he knew it wasn't the same as it was with...

With...

"Damn!" He smacked his fist down against the cavern floor, angry that he could never remember. He tried so hard to think past that black wall - to push it away or knock it down - but it seemed impenetrable.

Where was Teah? She had been gone a long time since he'd awakened. Who knew how long she'd been gone before that? Kirk wondered what would happen if she ever did confront K'Tal. Could she get away from him before he cut her down with that disrupter of his? Kirk had wanted to stop her from going on these forays, but the pain in his chest and the ever-present weakness and dizziness prevented him from doing anything but warn her.

A few yards away, something fell over, crashing to the floor. The sound echoed all over the cavern.

"Who's there?" The back of Kirk's neck began to tingle.

_Hold on, Jim. Probably rats._

He picked up a few loose stones and sent them hurtling in the direction of the crash, expecting to hear squeals and scampering of little rodent feet. Instead he heard a guttural yelp and a Klingonese curse, and then he was blinded by the beam of a laser torch. He couldn't see who held it, but he knew. Teah had gone out to find K'Tal; K'Tal instead had found him.

Fear drove Kirk to his feet, resignation brought him to a crouch. They would not have him this time. He would not go back to that room. He would die before he would go back. He would make them kill him.

The light from K'Tal's torch revealed Baruk skulking behind him, and as they approached Kirk, he sensed the uncontrolled signals in his brain being triggered. A trembling weakness, beginning in his knees and inching upward through his frame, made it an agony of effort just to remain upright. If only he weren't alone. If only he could know that what was happening to him had meaning of some kind...

_...meaning, and beauty... _

Those words, where had he heard them before? They were... Spock had said them once. He was talking about how diversity...

_Spock!! _

Jim saw his friend standing over his console on the bridge. He saw him again in a mind link with Scotty. And again hanging foolishly from a tree limb, another time playing the lyrette, or moving a chess piece. The relief and release of the recalled memories of his closest friend melted away the last of Kirk's reserves, and he sank to his knees in the dust. The end was coming, but he didn't much care, now. He knew who he was, and what he must do. Whether he had the strength to do it was irrelevant. Kirk was smiling as the torch came up to within inches of his face.

"Hello, Finnegan. What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"Unfinished business, Jim-boy, unfinished business. K'Tal, you know what to do."

Kirk felt his body grow rigid in the intense field of the disrupter before sensation began to fade. _Goodbye, Spock,_ he sighed, as he passed into nothingness.

Spock closed his communicator, having briefed Sulu and Uhura on their findings and ordering the beamdown of two additional security people. The whine of the transporter beam followed and Lt. Rivers was soon filling the men in. Teah sat nearby, watching Scotty's every move. Spock suspected she was telepathic; certain emanations, somewhat undisciplined, touched him like soft waves at low tide. Whether she was consciously shielding was not discernable, but he could not help but think her ability, mastered, would equal any Vulcan's. He began to wonder about her mother's heritage. Salah. That thought was so open he was surprised McCoy didn't pick up on it, or Mr. Scott, who was often holding her hand. But no, they were human, after all.

Abruptly, as Spock pondered these ideas, he distinctly felt a warmth, a presence in that certain area of his mind which had remained cold and closed for some time.

It was the link.

Frustratingly, the panic was back, too. Un-dealt with previously, it would continue to raise its head every time he was confronted with the possibility of re-establishing contact with Jim. As he struggled to master it, the warmth grew and brought with it the vision of a crooked smile and happiness. That was strange, though, because with the happiness was another certainty. Certainty of death.

"No!" Spock leapt to his feet. McCoy ran over to him, Scotty following.

Unnoticed, Teah sat unmoving, her eyes closed, her face a mask of pain.

"Spock, what is it?"

The science officer reeled and would have fallen if McCoy hadn't grabbed him.

"Mr. Spock, you look like death warmed over. What's the matter, man?"

"I was... "Spock swallowed, straightened. "I believe I have made contact with the captain."

"Well, where is he? Is he all right?"

Spock's eyes narrowed. He didn't answer the doctor, but walked over to Teah, still sitting with her eyes closed.

"Please show us the way, Teah."

"He won't be there."

"I know. But take us to where he was."

Teah stood up, carefully. She had felt Jim's pain, too, and with it, Spock's. If there had been any doubt left, this finished it. Jim needed his friends, and she was going to do everything she could to help them find him. She looked shyly at the engineer. "Will you come with me?"

"Try and keep me away," he answered, and offered her his hand. She accepted without hesitation, and started out. McCoy again brought up the rear and his trained eye was quick to pick out the unadulterated tension in Spock's blue-clad shoulders. In another officer he knew, this would have been the first sign of a pounding headache, but if Vulcans ever got headaches, they never told anyone about them. "Probably pretend they don't exist," muttered the physician as they scrambled toward the caverns.

The first sensation to come back was hearing. He listened with interest to K'Tal's labored breathing, to Finnegan's ceaseless dialogue, and the echoing clatter of feet on the cavern floor. Obviously they were taking him somewhere.

Slowly and less pleasantly, feeling returned, and he found himself flung over K'Tal's shoulder like a sack of meal, arms and legs trussed like game. He hoped this trip wouldn't be too long - it was difficult enough to breathe without a Klingon shoulder in his gut.

As far as sight was concerned, Kirk couldn't be sure - they could still be too far in the cave to perceive daylight, or he could be suffering from temporary blindness due to the disrupter. One thing was certain, however, and it cheered him almost as much as his restored memory - the blinding light of the torch had not caused the violent reactions he rather expected due to prior experience. He realized that over the last two or three days, the flashbacks were happening less and were of shorter duration. This weakness was a problem, though, although right now it was the least of many. He chuckled, wondering just how he would get himself out of this one, weakness or not.

The sound of his wry amusement did not go unnoticed.

"Well now, you're awake, Captain! This is marvelous! I see you still know how to laugh at yourself, though what good it will do you now is beyond me."

"Why don't you... cut the Shakespeare, Finnegan? I'm afraid you're... wasting your talents... on me."

Conversation from an upside down position was proving to be difficult.

A faint brightness filtered into the corridor, dust motes becoming particles of light like fireflies in the gloom.

"Put him down, K'Tal, and guard the entrance. Jim and I have something to discuss."

"This is where you live?" McCoy asked incredulously, noting the crates and bracken beds on the dirt floor.

Teah nodded, looking around in the glow of the security team's torches. "He's gone. I knew he would be."

"We'll find him, Lass. We haven't come this far to give up now, have we?" Scotty reassured her, resting his hand on her tousled head.

"Is there another way out of this cavern, Teah?" Spock asked the girl.

"Yes, through there; you have to crawl a little, but then it opens up and eventually comes out north of here. You make noise, though - no way to sneak up on anyone because of the crawling."

"Can you show us how to get to the other opening, Miss?" Rivers asked.

Teah looked at Scotty, who nodded approval. "They're here to help, too. It's all right."

As the girl gave the security team directions, Spock spotted something thrown into a corner, and went over to examine it more closely. McCoy watched curiously, then with chagrin, as Spock lifted a torn, bloodied, and burned gold command shirt from the dirt. He clenched it in his fist for a moment, then handed it over to McCoy.

"You have all your medical supplies with you, of course," he said quietly, looking past McCoy at the far wall.

"Nothing but the best, Spock." McCoy started to reach out, to touch the Vulcan, then stopped himself. No sense making things any harder for the science officer. He tweaked Spock's sleeve instead. "C'mon. Let's go get our captain."

McCoy, Spock and Teah started out after the security team, leaving Dahmer at the south entrance and calling for reinforcements. No one was going to get out that way.

And if Spock and McCoy had anything to do with it, no one was going to get out the other side either.

Not without dealing with them, first.

The burly Klingon unloaded Kirk on the floor, dropping him from a height of four feet or more. Stunned, Kirk didn't move immediately, until Finnegan hauled him up roughly and pushed him against the wall. Finnegan stood looking at his old shipmate for a few moments, then sat down nearby, fingering his disrupter possessively. K'Tal went outside.

"I assume you know why I brought you here." Kirk grinned wryly in response, drawing surprise and then anger across the Irishman's meaty features. "You find me amusing, do you?" All trace of Irish or Edwardian accents was gone. "I guess you found it amusing when a third of Farragut's crew died on that God-forsaken planet, too?"

The amusement faded from Kirk's eyes. "So, that's what this is all about."

Kirk gazed past Finnegan, his thoughts going back to that day when he had stood, phaser drawn, and watched helplessly as the malevolent cloud creature sucked the living red corpuscles from his fellow crew members, moving randomly from group to group, individual to individual, heedless of screams and phaser fire. Captain Garrovick was in one of those groups, phaser drawn, shouting orders.

Kirk's breathing became more labored as he relived the past, oblivious of his bound limbs, the cavern or Finnegan.

Lt. James T. Kirk ran toward Captain Garrovick, firing at the creature, but too late. The cloud descended on the group and then turned on Kirk. As his consciousness faded, he saw Finnegan in the distance, aiming his phaser...

"No! What are you doing?" Kirk watched in horror as Finnegan fired upon a crew member, a yeoman, someone they both knew, had talked to, been friends with... Margaret O'Shea, as full-blooded an Irishwoman as anyone would have cared to meet. Soft, green eyes and a heavy mass of auburn hair, saved from total unruliness by a thick braid. Her laughter was contagious, and her bantering a tonic to an overworked, conscientious young lieutenant. Oh, Jim had liked her, like her a lot.

And so did Finnegan.

After the academy days, Finnegan and Kirk, finding themselves serving on the same ship, struck an uneasy truce. Jim, although no longer an ensign, was only a Lieutenant J.G., while Finnegan had risen quickly in the ranks to full Lieutenant. Rank is rank, no matter what. They managed to avoid each other until Margaret came along.

Finnegan began to nourish his faded accent to impress the girl, and she was charmed, to Kirk's disgust. An open rivalry became the subject of much off-duty conversation and some quiet betting until a firm reprimand came from the bridge. Thereafter Kirk conceded, his career - as always - taking precedence over personal feelings. Finnegan preened and strutted in his 'victory,' so much so that Jim was almost embarrassed for him.

Then there was the fateful shore leave. A brief stop, a quiet, unpopulated planet. A third of the crew beamed down, most of them never to return. After it was over, the creature inexplicably gone, the debriefing began. Kirk and two others were witness to the cold-blooded act Finnegan had committed to decoy the creature away from himself. Margaret, stunned, laid in its path and became the target in Finnegan's place. There was a subsequent court-martial, as soon as the witnesses had recovered enough to testify, and Finnegan was dishonorably discharged and consigned to the penal colony on Tantalus V. It was some months later that Kirk learned of the shuttle accident which left the pilot and several passengers dead and Finnegan missing.

Kirk came back to the present and glared at Finnegan. "All right, what do you want? You've gone to a great deal of trouble to get me here, and I don't think it's to relive old memories."

"No, Jim-boy, it's to set the record straight once and for all. You must pay for the crimes you have committed."

"Crimes!? What... " Jim's grimaced with pain, the tightness in his chest gripping him like a vise. "What crimes? What are you talking about, Finnegan? Margaret was... "

"Don't you say her name to me!" screamed the former lieutenant, his face flaming in anger. It's because of you Margaret is dead. Sweet Maggie O'Shea... She was as pretty as a shamrock, as sweet as the isle flowers, she was..." Finnegan stopped, his eyes downcast and his voice thick.

Kirk's eyes widened in understanding as he heard his old shipmate ramble on. If he could keep him talking, he might be able to do something with the sharp outcropping of rough sapphire just behind his bound hands. "You loved her," he encouraged.

"Oh, that I did, Jim-boy. I loved her enough to want to marry her. I was going to ask her, too, on the shore leave. It was a perfect opportunity - plenty of privacy, plenty of time." Finnegan got up and began to pace, Kirk's efforts to cut his bonds unnoticed. "But then that - _Thing_ came. It was so fast, so fast! It was mowin' down everything in sight! I looked for Margaret. I would have protected her, shielded her, but what did she do? Where did she go?" Finnegan turned hate-filled eyes fully on Kirk. Jim felt the cord give way and he held his breath in anticipation. "She ran to you. You!! A puny plebe!"

"I was hardly a plebe, Finnegan," Kirk replied, despite himself.

"Shut up! You were always the plebe. The smart up-and-coming young midshipman! They said you were going places. I'm sick of always hearing about James Tiberius Kirk this and James Tiberius Kirk that! You're just a plebe!"

"Finnegan, it's not like you didn't have every chance I did. You outranked me ..."

"But you were in the elite group. The pompous gold-braiders - captaincy candidates - royal command. Margaret preferred you, ran to you for protection ..."

"No, Finnegan, you're wrong." Jim dropped the rope and gathered his bound feet under him as best he could, steeling himself. "Think, man! Margaret was running away from you, maybe, but she wasn't running toward me. She was running _with_ me, trying to get to Captain Garrovick. We were both trying to protect the captain."

"Liar! It's all lies! I had to keep her from doing something foolish, you see. You could never love her - you could never love anyone except your commission. I saw that I was losing her; I had to stop her - I had to!. But it was because of you," he cried, hysterically, disrupter aimed at Kirk's head. "You killed her, as surely as if you had pulled the trigger yourself!"

In the split second it took for Finnegan to step toward Kirk and squeeze off a shot, the captain had leaped for his throat. Kirk missed the mark, the shot going wild, but he managed to knock the Irishman down before rolling to his knees behind a small outcrop of rock. He glanced toward the entrance, his view partially blocked by jumbled rock, but he could discern the sounds of a scuffle taking place in that vicinity. He couldn't count on any help from there, but at least K'Tal was otherwise occupied...

Rock chips flew in his face as Finnegan's disrupter beam struck a vein of sapphire only centimeters away. Kirk dove into a forward tumble, throwing himself under a low overhang of wall, trying to buy a few seconds to untie his feet. It was cramped work, and he could hear his old enemy moving around, knowing that any second Finnegan would see him, take aim... Another shot blast hit the floor just in front of him, residual beam numbing his arms and hands. He would never get his bonds loose now.

He didn't want to die like this, hiding under a rock...

"Finnegan, I'm coming out."

Finnegan gestured comically, enjoying Kirk's predicament. "By all means, Captain Nobody. Come out and face the consequences."

Kirk struggled from under the overhang and remained on his knees in front of Finnegan, the lack of circulation in his legs making it impossible to stand. Managing only shallow breaths, he fought against the blackness playing with his vision.

"You are without a father, Jim," began the president, matter-of-factly, "and your older brother - Sam, was it? Your older brother passed the family name on to his son, who yet lives. You, therefore, according to the laws on Echthra, are cast out. You are a No-Name, and have no rights here. Therefore, by the authority vested in me as President of Echthra, I condemn you to death for the willful murder of Margaret O'Shea and the neglect of duty toward Captain Garrovick. Have you any last words before sentence is carried out?"

All but passing out, Kirk was vaguely aware that the tussle at the entrance had ceased, but he was too concerned with what Finnegan had just said to think about that right now.

"Yes," He replied. Struggling to attention, awkward at best in a kneeling position, Kirk answered: "To the charge of murder, I plead innocent." Finnegan sneered, but Kirk continued: "But as to the charge of neglect of duty I must plead... guilty."

Finnegan nodded with satisfaction, then raised the disrupter, taking careful aim. Kirk remained at attention and waited. He had done all he could do, and now this was all that remained. Only a moment or two, and then...

"Hold it right there, Baruk. I've got my sights on you and I'll drop you flat if you so much as blink!"

"You would be well-advised to obey Mr. Scott, Baruk. I believe you will agree that you are outnumbered."

Spock and Scotty came into the room, flanking Kirk.

Three security men moved behind Finnegan, phasers drawn.

"Perhaps I'm outnumbered, Vulcan," growled the Irishman, "but I'm not outdone!" Finnegan burst into a peal of laughter Jim remembered all too well and, before anyone could move, turned the disrupter, set at maximum, upon himself.

The group of men stared at the empty, smoking air before them for a minute, stunned. Then McCoy was at Kirk's bonds, fussing over the tight knots. Kirk managed to smile at his CMO before his vision faded to black.

Light slowly encroached on Kirk's consciousness. He felt hands upon him, and heard Scotty's voice not far away. He opened his eyes, blinking against the brightness of day, and tried to sit up.

McCoy leaned into view, placing hands on his shoulders to restrain him. "Jim, don't try to move. I'm arranging for a shuttle to pick you up. Just lay quietly, now."

"What's wrong with me?" he asked, feeling the familiar tightening in his chest, the weakness and painful breathing.

"I've got a list, but my main concern is your heart. The mitral valve has been damaged and your heart is having a hard time maintaining circulation. Frankly, Jim, it's a wonder you're still alive."

"K'Tal... "

"Gone. We beamed him and the security team back to the Enterprise."

"Where's Spock?"

"Mr. Spock went along to make sure K'Tal found a proper home in the brig; he'll be back soon."

Kirk's face was sober as he considered K'Tal's fate. After a brief hearing he would, under terms of the Organian Peace Treaty, be sent back to Klinzhai, where he would face his own people's brand of justice for charges known only to them.

Well, whatever they dished out wouldn't be enough. The captain had many reasons to hate the Klingon, not the least of which was his suspicion that he was Teah's father, yet had abandoned her like so many other irresponsibles had done on this planet. _Teah_...

Kirk grabbed McCoy's sleeve. "Bones, there's a young girl around here. We have to find her; she fed me, gave me a place to stay... "

"It's okay, Jim, she's right over there," McCoy swung his arm behind him. Kirk could see Teah sitting on a rock, talking seriously to Mr. Scott. "She brought us to you."

"She did?" Kirk smiled weakly and coughed. Scott and Teah looked over and saw that he was awake, and hurried over. Scott had a hand on Teah's shoulder. Kirk, despite his discomfort, was amused by this, and his grin grew wider.

"Captain!" boomed the engineer's voice. "It's good to see you, Sir. We thought you might - well, it was touch 'n go there for awhile." Scotty frowned at Kirk's wasted condition and evident pain, and turned to McCoy. "The shuttle's on it's way, Doctor."

There was a shrill power surge nearby and Spock materialized in its midst. He strode quickly to Kirk's side, darting a look at McCoy. McCoy nodded reassurance, maintaining a constant tricorder reading on the captain.

Teah, who had stood quietly beside the Scotsman, stared at Kirk for a long time, thinking that he seemed different somehow. Then she realized what it was. Jim had finally found his place, what he had been looking for all along, and it was here among his friends.

Kirk had glanced at her several times since she had come over to where he lay, but was waiting for her to speak first. Finally, seeing that her tongue was tied, he spoke to her. "Hello, Teah."

She cocked her head to the side, looking him over once more, and crossed her arms. "How's your head?" she asked, in all seriousness.

Kirk almost choked. McCoy let a small smile escape and Spock looked at the child curiously.

"My head's fine, Teah," Kirk responded. "I can remember everything now, especially these gentlemen here. Have they been taking good care of you?"

"Yes. Dr. McCoy calls me Miss Teah. Mr. Spock touches my mind like Salah did. And Mr. Montgomery... " She looked up at the Scotsman, whose hand she was holding. "He says we're cast in the same mold."

At Kirk' quizzical look, Scotty explained how he and Teah had come to meet and understand one another. He would have launched into a full history of happenings since the captain disappeared had the shuttle not arrived, kicking up dust and curtailing conversation.

"Let's get you aboard, Jim." Despite Kirk's protests, the medical team placed him on a stretcher and bore him into the shuttle. Spock and McCoy followed them in; Teah was left standing with the engineer, staring at the craft. Slowly, she let go the man's hand and took a step back.

"What's wrong, Lass?"

"It's time for you to... to go back... " Teah bit her lip, blinking hard against the tears.

"Aye, it is." Scott stepped toward her, cradled a hand against the side of her head. "And you're goin' with us."

Teah's eyes lit up with surprise and dawning hope. She looked at the shuttle, then back at the engineer. Then, for the first time since her mother died, she smiled. She wrapped her arms around the Scotsman's waist and hugged as hard as she dared, not wanting to hurt him. He hugged her back, and accompanied her to the shuttle.

Teah was never more glad to leave Echthra behind.

"Personal log: It's been two weeks since our departure from Echthra, and I'm looking forward to regular duty beginning tomorrow. Bones has finally certified me fit for duty - he had no choice if he wanted to get me out of his hair. After surgery, my recuperation has been steady. The lingering drug-induced symptoms have all but disappeared although, like Spock, I am somewhat concerned about how long this stuff remains in the system.

"Dr. M'Benga and his research team have determined that the drug is an herb, a harmless food supplement until a hormone called mytocin is introduced. This acts as a catalyst, causing a chemical reaction and the resulting hallucinogen. Ethanol, taken with the drug, speeds and enhances the effect. I will never live down the fact that I drank three glasses of wine as opposed to McCoy's one.

"Actually, I believe he is enjoying lording his righteous abstinence over me."

The Captain stopped dictating, his thoughts going to McCoy and the others who had played a part in recent happenings. Kirk had had several opportunities to talk to Spock about the drug-induced conditions the three men had experienced. Spock, always looking for something to be gained from any experience, told Jim how he was able to begin dealing with the emotions he had evinced at the onset of the poisoning and again when he was forced to come out of the healing trance too soon. He did not expound on these emotions specifically; Jim respected his privacy, but somehow he knew that since Spock was addressing these difficulties he should soon become the cheerful Vulcan they all knew and loved.

At least Spock was addressing his problems. Kirk, on the other hand, knew that sooner or later he was going to have to deal with the fact that he had delayed firing at the cloud creature years ago, and still had grave doubts about failing in the line of duty. Finnegan had brought it up again, a shadow from long ago,

but he wasn't ready to put it to rest. Not yet.

Kirk blinked hard and turned his thoughts to Mr. Scott. Due to Kirk's surgery and recovery Scotty had not had much opportunity to speak to the captain since they had left Echthra, but he had brought Teah with him the times when McCoy allowed Jim visiting privileges. Teah was shy with Kirk, seeing a different man than the boy-like Jim she had known on Echthra, but she soon grew easy around him, especially with Scott's encouragement. Kirk could see that a very close bond was forming between the two, and saw a peace in Scotty's eyes that had not been there before.

He continued his log entry:

"Mr. Scott has taken a young girl from Echthra under his wing. Although it is not exactly regulation, I have made an exception in this case. Teah is of Romulan and Klingon ancestry; her Rihannsu family is deceased and she therefore has no status there. Her father is consigned to Klinzhai to face uncertain charges and will probably be executed, if for no other reason than because he was shipped back in disgrace from the Federation. Naturally, Teah has no klan status there, either. However, Mr. Spock has turned up computer records proving Teah was born on Echthra, a Federation colony, and therefore has automatic citizenship in the United Federation of Planets. With Scotty's encouragement and advice, she has chosen Earth as her adopted home planet and all the legal paperwork has been initiated. I think Scotty's in for quite a busy shore leave.

"Teah was instrumental in my survival on Echthra and I could not have left her on that God-forsaken planet for any reason. Besides, if I had, I would have had small Scottish mutiny on my hands. I am pleased, as stated in the ship's log, that the UFP is looking into the matter of government and social policy on Echthra, and that immediate steps are being taken to round up the No-Names and give them care and shelter until things can be worked out for them.

"My only remaining concern is for my friend, Leonard McCoy. Although he has made an attempt to hide it, he's unusually reserved and quiet. I've also observed a number of occasions when Mr. Spock has openly set himself up for a proper reaming out only to have Bones turn away from the challenge. I would have approached McCoy before now but for the fact that I've felt the timing was wrong. Spock confirmed it this afternoon when he confided in me that he believes the problem is between them and he would talk to Bones tonight. I pray they will help each other. I miss their bickering and sniping more than I realized!"

Kirk closed his entry and yawned widely as he played it back, something he often did before turning in. As he listened, his mind still going over recent events, he lay his head down on his folded arms. The sound of his own voice receded in the background as he was once again on a breezy ridge looking up at the stars glimmering across a velvet night. The captain smiled in his sleep.

"Come in," Spock heard the doctor say from the inner room. The door slid open and Spock walked into McCoy's office.

"Am I interrupting you, Doctor?" Spock asked, observing the mounds of work piled upon the physician's desk and surrounding work area.

McCoy got up and cleared a jumble of flimsies and computer disks from a chair and motioned for Spock to sit. "You're giving me a welcome break, Spock. My eyes were starting to cross from looking at the monitor for so long."

Spock leaned over to see what was on the computer screen. One eyebrow arched in comprehension. "Ah, the hallucinogen. I understand you have been working with Dr. M'Benga to better understand its effects."

"Yes," said McCoy, absently. "It's xenobiological reaction is pretty interesting. One man's poison is another man's cure - that sort of thing." The doctor's voice trailed off and he stared at the wall for a moment before he caught himself. "Sorry. Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?" He leaned back in his chair and gave the first officer his full attention.

"There was, and is, Doctor. Recently, I have observed a calmer demeanor, a more systematic attitude in you. You have been quiet and reserved; your research has been thorough and methodical. In short, you have been behaving most rationally."

"Well?"

"It is difficult for me to say this, Dr. McCoy. I wish... I would prefer..." Spock sighed audibly, surprising the doctor. "I liked the old Leonard McCoy better."

"Oh you did, did you?" McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Well, have you ever considered what I prefer?"

"Yes, and I believe that you have chosen to cut off part of yourself, to subdue a vital part of your human personae. To what purpose, Doctor?"

McCoy turned from the science officer and began straightening his desk. "I don't think that's any of your business, Spock." He was shocked when Spock grabbed his arm and swiveled the chair around to face him squarely.

"It is my business when this altered behavior has been caused, in part, by me."

McCoy's gaze was incredulous; Spock continued: "Doctor, do you recall when you and Mr. Scott helped me out of the healing trance, the feelings you were experiencing at that moment?"

How could he forget? Useless, foolish, afraid for Jim and for Spock, afraid of what he might say or do under the influence of the drug. But mostly he felt ...

"Responsible," said the science officer.

McCoy raised grief-stricken eyes to Spock's. He shook his head and tried to free himself of the Vulcan's grip. Spock had no intention of letting go.

"You felt responsible for not having taken Jim's uneasiness about Finnegan more seriously, about having been duped, drugged, and prevented from protecting your captain."

The doctor relaxed a little and smiled wryly. "And for not having protected his first officer."

Spock leaned back, releasing his hold on McCoy. "Indeed?"

"Spock, when I woke up in sickbay, I was so glad to be back in my right mind I forgot everything I'd been taught. I went jumping around like a chimpanzee and what happened? I wound up flat on my back again. You were in a coma and Jim was lost, and what good was I to either of you? My feeling certainly got the better of me, Spock, and the irony of it is, it was my emotions which triggered the hallucinogen. For Jim it was sensory stimuli, but for me it was my emotions - don't you see? If I had managed to keep better control of myself maybe ..."

McCoy was tense again, clasping his hands so tightly the knuckles were white.

"Doctor, the drug affected me in an identical way. Fortunately, I was able to use techniques learned on Vulcan to effectively 'shut myself off' until the effects had lessened. Leonard," he said, making the doctor look at him, "if I had not had that recourse, I would have been just as susceptible to emotion-triggered response as you were." He paused to let that sink in, then added: "It seems to me a heinous crime to crucify that which inestimably makes up the man known as Leonard H. McCoy."

"Wait a minute, now." McCoy could hardly believe his ears. "Are you telling me that I should embrace all the old emotions and go back to being what I was before?"

"Well, Doctor, perhaps not exactly. You could, conceivably, learn from the experience of leading a more logical existence, and emerge a more ..."

"A more what? Vulcanized human being? Spare me, Spock, but one is enough."

"One what, Doctor?" Spock set out the bait.

"Vulcanized. You heard me. You are the most Vulcanized human being I've ever known. You're the only _Vulcanized_ human being I've _ever _known!"

"I see no reason why you should shout insults at me, Doctor. The fact that my mother happened to be born of human parents has no bearing whatso... "

"The hell it doesn't! You can't stand there and tell me ..." McCoy stopped in mid-rant, staring at Spock in open surprise. "Why, you pointed-eared, thick-headed ..." His eyes crinkled as he sized up the enigmatic man sitting coolly before him. Suddenly he smiled at his Vulcan friend, got up from his chair, and walked over to a cabinet. He poured two small brandies, holding one out to Spock. "Join me?"

"Thank you, Doctor. I assume you are well-acquainted with this brand of poison?"

"To those who have tasted the cup, Spock," toasted McCoy, raising his brandy in salute.

"To those who have survived, Doctor," returned Spock, and drained his glass.

Epilogue

"There it is, Lass, the yellow star in the right quadrant," said the engineer, pointing. "That's Sol, and as we come closer you'll see the third planet, all green and blue and white. That's earth. There's where I was born."

Teah drew her eyes from the view and looked at the Terran standing beside her on the observation deck. He was completely different from her physically: paler, taller (although that would change in a few years), male, and human. Human wasn't a dirty word by any means; Teah had grown up knowing several. But human, once just a xenobiological fact, was now something more. Human was this man who had befriended her, seen something in her that was also a part of him.

When Teah had taken Jim in to care for him, she found a relationship unlike any she had ever known. Through their friendship, she had learned that it was all right to care for others, to help them. Strange that now, with this other human, the roles had reversed, and he had taken her in, given her status again. More

importantly, however, he had given her his unconditional love.

Scotty felt her eyes upon him and smiled down at her, taking in the unadorned Starfleet uniform she wore, tall boots and all. Teah preferred the panted version of the uniform and looked tall and elegant in black. "What is it, Lass?" he asked, seeing a question in her look.

"I was just wondering why you would do all this for me. We never knew each other; we have no blood ties. We're not even the same race! Why do you even care?" A thought occurred to her; she expressed it though she was afraid of what the answer might be. "Is it because I took care of the captain?"

"No! Don't ever think that!" Scotty's hands closed on her shoulders, his eyes locking with hers. "Of course we're grateful you helped Jim, but ..."

Scotty turned away to look out the observation port again, his hands clasped tightly behind him. He searched for words to express emotions that he had locked away for so long, since the last surviving member of his family had passed away more than three years ago. Teah waited quietly, sensing his desire to talk and his hesitation to begin. Without thinking, she reached over and patted him, consolingly, on the arm.

The simple act of caring touched the Scotsman deeply, and there were tears in his eyes when he turned again to the girl.

"The people in the country where I was born and raised are a folk of great and deep feelings," he began, "and I suppose it'll always be that way. When I was a wee lad, Teah, my father and mother were killed in a freak accident in Glasgow, and I was taken in by grand-dad's oldest sister, Aunt Mattie. She was a tiny

woman, with sparkling blue eyes and a smile - such a smile! Sometimes, in the night, when it seemed all the beasties of my dreams were after me and I cried for my parents, she'd come into my room and hold me close until I was quiet."

Teah stared at the Scotsman round-eyed. She was remembering the times Salah would comfort her, wrap her arms around her...

Scotty hesitated. There was more he wanted to tell her, but he didn't know how this girl with a background so different from his would begin to comprehend. Still, he wanted her to understand him, how he felt about things, and why... "Aunt Mattie would read to me sometimes, Teah. Did your mother ever do that?"

Teah nodded, tears springing to her eyes. "When she could." She smiled through her tears. "What kind of books did your aunt read to you?"

"Oh, all kinds. History, fairy tales, family lore. I remember one book - a very old book, it's edges cracked and pages yellow with age. It had our family genealogy in the front of it, going back for generations. People getting married, getting born. Dying. But it was all part of life, you see. Part of me, even though my parents were dead. I still had a heritage. I remember there was one entry, about two hundred years old, where there was a son, a boy named Donald, who was adopted into the family. I'm a direct descendent of that boy."

"You mean...?" Teah shook her head incredulously.

"Aye, Lass. Technically, I'm not a Scott. But there was something that made it all right - made Donald as much a part of the family as if he'd been born into it, and makes me a Scott, too, even though my parents are dead."

"What?" Teah watched him intently, her breath short.

"It's explained in that old book I was tellin' you about, although I'm not good at quoting things. But what it said in a nutshell was that I didn't have to be afraid, even though my parents were gone. A 'slave to fear,' I believe it said. It talked about adoption, a spirit of adoption, which did away with all fear and such. And it gave me the right to say 'Father.'" Scotty turned to face Teah. "I was very small, Lass, and the truth of it didn't really come home to me... til I saw you."

"I - I'm not sure I understand."

"Don't feel bad," he laughed. "It's eluded me all these years; I don't know if I'll ever fully understand, but I do know this much: I saw you, I saw your need, and I saw your spirit. I couldn't leave you all alone, Lass. You touched something in me, girl, and it would have broken my heart to know you were there, a child fending for herself with no one caring."

"But why me? Why not any of the others? Or all of the others?"

"Scotty sighed. "Because I'm human, with all the faults of my race. Don't worry, all the No-Names are going to be taken care of, Lass, but my heart's not big enough to handle more than you in this lifetime." He dropped his eyes, sobered by the thought of all the other children on Echthra who needed someone just like him, saddened by the fact that he hadn't the heart of the Father of his ancestors.

Teah saw his sadness, her heart burning to make him smile again. She linked her arm through his and bent all her will at projecting her thoughts to him. "Ach, but you're learning, Lad, you're learning."

Scotty started, looked at his new daughter in puzzled surprise for a moment, then understanding and delight dawned on his features. "Thank you, Teah-lass. We both are, aren't we?"

The two people stood a long time, arm in arm, staring out at the view of one particular star and the future it held for both of them.

The End


End file.
